


The Bat's Crest

by livierambles



Series: Sometimes, you just really need to punch your way home [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfam Feels, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Superheroes but no Batman, stuck in another dimension trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 188,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livierambles/pseuds/livierambles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tragedy strikes the hero community when Bruce Wayne commits a crime so heinous even the best start asking for blood. However, as the heroes try to recover from the hit and carry out justice for their friends, a random assortment of people start acting oddly, including the current Speedy Tim Drake, a child hostage in Gotham, and a young man from an unremarkable circus amongst others. All of them seem intent on saving Bruce Wayne from the grasp of the Justice League for no apparent reason, going as far as betraying their previous allegiances.</p><p>Unknown to the Justice League, these people are equally confused. Clearly they're stuck in another dimension, but how do they get back? How did they even get here? Who else is stuck in this world? And how long will Tim's patience last? Back home, the Bat was a planetary symbol that struck fear in the hearts of criminals. In this new world, it has no meaning, save for the handful of stranded souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tim is Red... Speedy

There were a few things Tim always expected when he woke up. The first was surprise - when the _hell_ had he fallen asleep? It was usually then that the pain and the stiffness made themselves known. Whatever position he had adopted to sleep was rarely optimal for his joints and his healing injuries. Sometimes, this was followed by confusion in the face of unknown whereabouts, and then a prompt mental run through of events which usually cleared ninety-six percent of the circumstances.

All this was done in record time, mostly due to experience. If there was one thing that the past had thought Tim, it was to stay awake and aware, because most of the time, he woke up in hostile situations.

Unfortunately, this day was not one hectic, chaotic mess and Tim quickly found himself completely out of his comfort zone.

He was fine, completely fine. He couldn’t feel that stab wound a local drug lord had given him three days ago, or the gurgling of his stomach, curtesy of Scarecrow’s new formula which had upset his digestive system. And it wasn’t just that - he wasn’t in any room he recognised, and yet the room he was in was unmistakably his.

The posters, the music albums stacked on the bedside table, the books perched on the shelves, the handwriting on the homework by his desk, it was all his. Not the exact same posters and albums, but the same interests, the same games he played, the same bands he loved - Christ, even the camera on the desk was the same model he preferred using, with less scratches and stains. Whoever had set this room up had either intimate knowledge of Tim’s mind or this was something else entirely.

Hallucination? Mind control?

If anyone knew so much about him, they’d have been able to reproduce his room perfectly, to the last detail. So why make it so obviously different? Why switch the traditional style architecture of the Manor for a more modern, simpler style? Why purchase books he’d never read, but would have obviously been prone to buying? And why -

Why modify his body?

With disturbing detachment, Tim jumped out of the (his?) bed and stared at his arms, slowly turning them to get a good look at every angle. Now compared to his peers, Tim didn’t exactly have the body of a veteran warfighter. He wasn’t covered in scar tissue like Bruce, and he certainly didn’t have Kon’s muscle mass. But he still was a vigilante by night, and he still had a few marks on his body and a body athletic enough to get by. Yes, his arms were thin, but not _that_ thin. Yes, his skin was pale, but it wasn’t _that_ spotless.

He was the right height though, the right colour.

Gotham had shown him many disgusting things, but this was, this was Professor Pyg kind of disgusting. This was invasive and - 

 _Subdue your panic_ , inner-Bruce spoke in his mind, _look for clues, understand your situations before reacting to it._

Tim opened the closets of this (his?) room to see if he could find anything of relevance.

 _Right down to my fashion sense_ , he thought in horror, _I’ve got to get me one of these hoodies - focus Drake!_

He caught his face on the mirror stuck to the closet door and was once again overwhelmed by this feeling of familiar unknown. Those were his eyes staring back, but with less pronounced bags under them. And his hair was shorter, like it had been before Bruce took a trip in time.

He needed to figure things out. Quickly. For the sake of his sanity.

But first, he had to get out of these tacky pyjamas. They were flash patterned - as in, Barry Allen’s symbol. Plus, the clothes in this (his?) wardrobe probably fit him, like everything else in this room.

… 

Oh how he hated being right.

This was becoming downright creepy, and Tim didn’t use that word lightly. He had lived with Creep McCreep himself for years, after all. God knew Bruce’s near omniscient knowledge perturbed every other hero out there. At least now Tim knew what it was like to be on the receiving end. He’d never make fun of the Titans calling him an obsessive stalker again. Never.

Tim walked to the door to check the lock. Chances were, whoever had orchestrated this knew Tim was Red Robin, Batman’s apprentice. They’d have taken extra precautions, because all the Bats were escape artists of the highest calib-

It wasn’t locked.

What. The. Fuck.

The door wasn’t locked. He was free to go. Tim could just, _walk out_.

The concept was strangely foreign.

It didn’t even make sense. Sure Tim was a messy person by nature, but from the looks of it, this room hadn’t been opened or cleaned in _days_. The air felt heavy and there were plates and food crumbs and - It looked just like his room when he’d spend days working on a case through his computer. But that couldn’t be right, because this room, this Tim, wasn’t a master detective. There were no case files around, no whiteboard covered in ideas, no pins and threads and pictures and -

So if he _had_ been holed up in this room for days, but _wasn’t_ actually working on anything, and _could_ have walked out anytime, what. The. Fuck.

Using all the stealth that had been instilled in his every day movements from an early age, Tim turned the knob of the door and made his way down the unfamiliar corridor. He was immensely glad he didn’t recognise the house one bit, and it was physically painful for any Bat to revel in ignorance.

It wasn’t an overly fancy house like Tim was used to. Not the Manor, not Dick’s penthouse, and not his Nest. But it wasn’t cheap either. Perhaps it was closer to the house he lived in with his dad, but smaller, and a lot more plain when it came to decorations.

“- tomorrow at latest. This cannot be good for him, we agreed on -“

Tim stilled. The voices were coming from downstairs and were, much to Tim’s dismay, familiar. He couldn’t tell who exactly, but at the moment, he was a bit too distraught to put one and one together, much less two and two. Carefully, he crept towards the source of the voices.

After navigating through the stairs, Tim got to a living room that opened on a kitchen, a single counter separating the two. A man and a woman were sitting at the counter talking, their backs facing Tim. The woman had a cascade of wavy black hair and was dressed like she was going to some cocktail party. Her friend, tall, blond, broad shoulder, was wearing completely casual clothes - a bit too neat for the common man, but quite similar to the clothes Green -

“ _Oliver Queen_?” Tim asked, mouth gaping, before he could stop himself.

“Holy @#$%!” Yes, it was Oliver Queen all right; there was no mistaking _that_ eloquent mouth, “When the @#$% did you get here, Tim?”

“Tim! What a pleasant surprise!” The woman - was that a scantily dressed _Diana_? - smiled, “How are you?”

There was something a tad too gentle about her tone that Tim didn’t entirely like. It was the Robin tone, dubbed as is because it was the tone every adult superhero used whenever they first met a Robin. The tone that was asking Bruce what the hell he was thinking bringing someone so young in his crusade. The tone that said ‘stay behind me, I’ll protect you,’ and that _every single_ Robin loathed nearly as much as Alfred’s waffles.

“ _Wonder Woman_?” Tim stammered as Diana walked over to hug him.

“You all right Tim?” Queen asked, looking visibly worried but hiding it in a humorous tone, “You used my full name and Di’s title. Are we in trouble?”

Diana slapped his arm, sending him some kind of message through a threatening glare. Queen gulped.

“Don't mind him, sweetie.” _Sweetie_? “He's happy to see you walking about, and so early in the morning too. Would you like breakfast?”

Was _Wonder Woman_ offering to _cook_ _breakfast_ for him? What was _anyone_ supposed to answer to that? Did Diana even cook? Was it some kind of trick to see if Tim thought she belonged in a kitchen? Would saying yes offend her? Would saying _no_ offend her?

“I - What - How - Just, I…”

“I think you broke him,” Queen told her in a stage whisper.

Diana ignored him, bending slightly to reach Tim’s eye level instead. She gently placed a hand on his cheek, and gave him the most sympathetic look Tim had ever gotten in his life. It was a gift Diana had, to let her emotions show fully whenever she let them. When she gave her condolences or sympathy, you just knew that she _meant_ every bit of it. That was why Diana always spoke at funerals, why she was the one who never hesitated to approach a grieving friend.

But Tim was pretty fine emotionally at this point. His low moments had passed, and Diana was a bit late on the whole thing.

“It's okay, Tim. If you still need a few more days,” she said softly, “just - just remember we’re here for you.”

“He's already spent four days locked in his room,” Queen pointed out, looking every bit as concerned as Diana, “this can’t be healthy.”

“He's just lost his _father_ , Ollie,” Diana growled, “have some tact!”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat. He grabbed Diana’s wrist and snapped his eyes to meet hers.

“What happened to Bruce?”

Diana startled at his sudden focus and her confusion clearly left her speechless.

“Bruce?” Queen repeated, frowning, “Your father’s name is - _was_ Jack. Jack Drake? Of Janet and Jack Drake? We were at his funeral just a few days ago?”

Crap. Alternate dimension?

“I knew that,” Tim huffed, “I thought I heard you mention a Bruce when I was walking down. I wanted to know what you were talking about.”

And thank _you_ , Alfred, for your magnificent improv classes.

Queen and Diana shared a look that didn’t quite imply Tim was acting like he had a screw loose, but it did practically scream it in a megaphone. Luckily, it seemed they were convinced he was in some kind of denial - and didn’t Tim just love when everyone he cared about thought he was in denial - and were willing to excuse all his quirks.

 _Alternate dimension doesn’t make sense either_ , inner-Bruce said, _you’re not in your body_.

Could his soul have travelled alone?

“You must have misheard, honey,” Diana told him, standing up to her full height once more and walking back to the kitchen, “Bacon and eggs?”

“Sure,” Tim replied, allowing Queen to shepherd him to a seat at the counter.

“I was thinking,” Queen started.

“Don't hurt yourself,” Tim quipped out of habit. Teasing the Green Arrow was a national sport for costumed superheroes.

“Ha!” Queen laughed sarcastically, “and here we were worried about you, smartass. Good to see you back to halfway normal. Anyways, as I was saying to Diana before you came downstairs _willingly_ ,” Queen stressed the last word while pointedly sending Diana a look, “I know you might not really want to leave the house right now, but don’t you think spending a few days away from us and with your team would be a good idea? Friends are exactly what you need right now, Timmy.”

If these Teen Titans were as close to their Tim as Tim was close to his Teen Titans, they’d notice something was off from the start. It was dangerous waters, but then again, if the superheroes couldn’t help him, who would? Bruce always did make a point not to reveal any information about one-selves unless absolutely necessary, and to blend in as much as one could. But how would he get back to his world if he was too busy living other Tim Drake’s life?

Wait - were they even superheroes? Diana did respond to the name Wonder Woman, and Queen did mention a team of his but - Tim had no idea how similar/different this world was. He didn’t even know if it was _real_.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Diana reassured him as she placed a plate in front of him. Tim was so going to rub it in Jason’s face that he ate a meal cooked by _Wonder Woman_ when he made it home. “You haven’t shot a single arrow in a whole week. It may be a bit too soon to jump back right in the middle of the action.”

An arrow. Shot an arrow. Oh no. Tim could see where this was going. Tim could hit a target at a fairly big distance with a bow, Bruce had made sure of that. He just couldn’t hit _bullseye_ , and certainly not shoot the centre of a moving target while doing some weird acrobatics. In the midst of battle he’d probably manage to get by, but anyone would see the difference.

For one, he’d prefer punching, kicking and using his bow as a bo staff.

Was he Queen’s apprentice in this world? Whose muscle memory did he have? His or other Tim’s?

Luckily, Tim was saved from answering.

“ _Tim_?” Connor - _a_ Connor Hawke, who had just entered the living room/kitchen asked, “you’re… You’re up?”

“Couldn’t mope forever,” Tim shrugged, savouring the bacon. It was mediocre, but it was cooked by Wonder Woman.

Connor frowned, grabbing a seat at the counter as well, “you don’t have to pretend to be fine,” he wisely advised, “I’m sure the others will understand. How are you feeling?”

Disoriented. Confused. Slightly scared.

“I’m okay,” he said instead, “honestly.”

“You’re in denial,” Connor realised.

Tim’s eye twitched.

“But I think dad’s right. Going back to Young Justice would do you some good. Your teammates have faced similar tragedies in their lives and-”

Tim tuned out Connor’s actually good advice for a minute. He knew Connor was probably the most emotionally adjusted and reasonable one amongst the capes, but the name Young Justice had caught his attention. Young Justice was his _old_ team, the one he’d formed with Kon, Bart, Cassie and Cissy almost _just for fun_. It was a happier team, a messier one. It was before Donna had died, before any of them realised what it meant to play this game. Young Justice had disbanded _for a reason_ , and Tim wasn’t sure he liked what it meant that he was seventeen and still part of it.

A few years back he wouldn’t have minded. But now that he’d spent years working as a cape? He could understand the stigma Young Justice had received, because it wasn’t a profession to be taken lightly. All their dicking around had caused Donna her life, and Tim wasn’t comfortable with ignoring that. Being part of Young Justice was just like offering a gun to Bruce; it was disrespectful.

“I’m not sure I’m up for that yet,” Tim interrupted.

“What _are_ you up for then?” Queen asked as he sipped his coffee, “And don’t say staying in your room, son. You’ve done enough of that.”

“Take it slow,” Diana advised, reprimanding Queen with another look, “don’t cut yourself off, of course. Cassandra has been very worried about you. But don't rush it either.”

Diana glanced at the clock on the stove, “I have to go, take care of yourself, Timothy. You too, Connor.”

“What about me?” Queen smirked.

Diana pecked his lips as she walked out, leaving his question hanging.

Wait. Rings on their hands. They were married. Green Arrow and Wonder Woman were married. This was a family moment. Tim was part of the Arrow family. But that didn’t make sense either. If his father had only died a few days before, why did Tim have a room in Queen’s house? There was no mistaking that his room had been occupied and lived in for quite a while. Other Tim had obviously been hit quite hard by his father’s death, so it wasn’t like they were estranged either. And _Oliver Queen_ was _married_ to _Diana Prince_. That was - weird, at best.

“So, Young Justice?” Queen insisted, “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“I don’t think-"

 

* * *

 

Tim blinked.

“What,” he managed to articulate.

He was standing in front of a big house, one he knew too well. It had been Young Justice’s headquarters for a while back in his world. This was where he’d shown his face to his best friends for the first time, where they had once held an election and Cassie had beaten him - But those times were long gone. And Tim was pretty sure he’d insisted he did _not_ want to come here.

“I can’t believe you actually tried to convince dad to stay home,” Connor whistled, impressed, “you know he’s the most stubborn man on Earth, right?”

And he had known. Everyone knew how opinionated Oliver Queen was, how the smallest comment could trigger hour long rants from him. But to actually witness it was a novel experience. It was like being caught in a short but violent bout of rain on a sunny day. It was over before one could register the sky had turned grey, and then the sun was glaring back as if nothing had happened. But everything was wet. Everything.

Yeah, Tim wasn’t sure where that comparison was going either. But seriously, what had just happened?

It was too late now though. Connor was already knocking at the door. Tim was already dressed in red with a quiver on his back. Connor kept calling him Red Speedy. Tim couldn't fathom why. The original Speedy was already all red. This was dumb. Did Mia even exist in this world?

The door swung opened and Cassandra Sandsmark showed herself in all her demigod glory. She looked just like she did back in his world, with her red Wonder Girl shirt, her jeans and her crimson boots. Only, she still wore the black wig and the goggles, which was slightly weird. It felt childish even if it didn’t have to be. In Tim’s mind, Cassie had outgrown the wig - reverting to it was like erasing a part of the strength she’d built over the years.

 “G.A!” Cassie smiled, “and Tim! Oh my God, Tim, it’s been forever! Are you feeling better? We wanted to visit you but-“ Cassie bit her lips, and Tim felt like shoving her lasso down her throat. Out of all the heroes there were very few he couldn’t forgive for using the Robin tone, but his best friends were part of them. Hadn’t he proved himself enough times?

“It's Red Speedy when I’m wearing the mask,” Tim replied as he usually did when names slipped in the field.

Cassie and Connor seemed taken aback by the answer and yes, Tim might have been a bit cold with his words. Clearly other Tim wasn’t Bat trained.

“I'm fine,” he amended, “I just needed to… Get out.”

The two blondes’ faces softened.

“Don't worry,” Cassie told him, “you're going through some rough stuff," then, to Connor, “you're welcome to come in too if you want."

“I’m just here to drop off my brother,” Connor answered, “but thank you for the offer.”

Cassie shrugged, “Your loss. Come on, Tim. The others will be so happy to see you!”

Tim allowed himself to be led through the house, finding that there was not much he could do without raising suspicion but follow. He needed to get more info, and soon. 

As it was when Tim was still sporting green tights, the lounge of the Young Justice mansion was messy and noisy. There were empty packs of chips and soda cans spread everywhere, magazines and CDs scattered throughout the room, and a bunch of young heroes either playing ping pong or lazing around.

The first thing Tim noticed was that Kon was nowhere to be seen. Kon was always watching the TV or reading magazines back when they were in YJ together. Back then he was all confidence and cool kid aesthetics. Tim nearly snorted at the memory. Man, they were all so lame before being Teen Titans! And now - now Kon hated half of himself. 

Tim shook the thought away.

Bart as Kid Flash was at the ping pong table with Jaime Reyes as the Blue Beetle, Iris West the second as Impulse and some other kid whose face Tim couldn’t see because of her body being covered in black spandex from head to toe.

Surprisingly, Zachary Zatara was there too, talking to… was that Secret? Had Greta not lost her powers to Darkseid?

The line up of this team was just plain weird.

“Look who’s here!” Cassie announced, moving to shove Tim forward gently. Tim anticipated the move before though, and managed to sidestep the hand discreetly enough that Cassie would think she'd misjudged the distance.

“Tim!” Bart beamed, zapping in front of Tim instantaneously, “Buddy! How are you?”

Everyone’s eyes were suddenly fixed on Tim.

“Good, thanks.”

A blank.

“You’re allowed to be sad, you know,” Impulse - Seriously, wasn’t she, like, _six_? What the hell was she doing here? - pointed out, “your _daddy_ just _died_.”

“Impulse!” Greta chided.

Tim was a good liar, an excellent liar even. He was the king of liars. He lied to Batman himself. But that didn’t make him an excellent actor. Bruce had made sure he could do angry and scary quite well, he had even practiced looking terrified for when he was caught in a shit-storm in his civilian clothing, but sad? He had the default Bat-coping methods of being sad: throwing himself into a case, shutting himself out and, sometimes, stealing from the president of the United States to try and clone his best friend.

He joked about it but being sad was not something Tim could act. He’d had sever depression multiple times; it wasn’t something he wanted to fall back into, not even for pretend.

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Tim admitted, reverting to basic superhero dialogue 101.

Bart didn’t look convinced, but he let it slide, “Whatever rocks your boat, bro.”

“Don't bottle it all up,” Cassie advised.

“It's not that I don’t appreciate the rare emotional moments we have around here,” Zach interrupted, “but are we sure it’s a good idea to bring Robin Hood back into the fold right now? We need to be at the top of our game: Leviathan’s coming.”

Tim didn’t like Zachary Zatara that much, very few did actually, but hearing him call him Robin earned him a few carrot points. Even if it was in reference to something else.

Leviathan though? Where had he heard that name?

Bruce’s files. Batman Inc. 

Not that he’d read those files, since he wasn’t allowed to. Hacking into the Bat-computer at seven in the morning when Bruce and Oracle were asleep (he checked before sneaking out of bed) was just plain rude. Obviously. He’d deny everything if someone were to tell.

“Should I sit this one out, then?” Tim suggested, looking forward to some time alone so he could find a laptop and pray the wifi password hadn’t changed.

“Shit, he’s gonna feel left out again,” Bart whispered to Jaime, too low for Tim to hear.

_But I can read your fucking lips, Bart._

“What’s up with Leviathan anyway?” Tim asked instead.

“Who knows what’s up with that brat ever?” Zach grimaced, “He’s coming for our blood, as always. He put Eddie in the hospital two days ago. Probably would have killed him if Greta hadn’t made it there in time to teleport him away.”

“Is he alright?” Tim found himself asking, guessing the Eddie he was referring to was Red Devil.

“He’ll live,” Cassie answered darkly, “we wanted to tell you but…”

“I didn’t answer my phone,” Tim finished. Cassie nodded. “I understand. What are his injuries?”

Jaime sighed, “Stab wounds, blood loss, broken bones - Leviathan’s usual M.O.”

Trained assassin. Probably a high level martial artist and master of blades. Use of poison and firearms highly unlikely. Close combat. Metahuman level.

“He went after Eddie when he was alone,” Cassie continued, “the coward. He’s too scared to take us on all at once.”

 _Or too smart_ , Tim thought.

“You know what?” Cassie suddenly decided, “I’m calling a team meeting.”

“We’re already all here,” The girl in black spandex pointed out.

“I won’t stand by while Leviathan hunts us like rabbits,” Cassie declared, “ _we’re_ going to bring the fight to _him_.”

“NO!” Jaime practically screamed, “the scarab, I mean,” he amended, “he wanted to - never mind. Carry on.”

“Hal told us not to go after criminals on our own,” Greta reminded them severely, “'Do not attack, defend,'” she quoted, “Wonder Woman and the Flash said the same.”

“Aren't you tired of this though?” Bart asked her slightly angrily, “Every few months Leviathan comes bother us, leaving behind a trail of blood. He’s not Luthor or Sinestro or Darkseid - He’s not big enough for the Justice League to deal with him. But we still have put up with him punching holes into our friends!”

“We _know_ where he is,” Cassie added, “Beetle can track him - he’s just there, in our reach. Are we really going to ignore him unless he tries to decapitate us _again_ , just because the adults told us to? I’m tired of being treated like benched players! We’re heroes too! And we can't just do nothing while Eddie's in the hospital!”

“He's near Westmond Park,” Jaime confirmed, "It's only an hour away in jet."

“I'm not sure this is a good idea,” Tim pitched in. It never ended well when a team of young heroes went on a mission feeling rebellious and entitled to some action. Tim had been on enough young superhero team ups to know. Besides, the Justice League too rarely went on the offensive. There was a reason why the Outsiders felt the need to be created - heroes couldn’t just go around poking sleeping dragons.

“Fine, you’re staying here anyways,” Cassie decided.

“Excuse me?”

“Dude,” Bart chuckled, “Last time you went up against Leviathan with us you lost your spleen.” Seriously? Was Tim _not_ allowed to keep his spleen in _any_ universe? “You're a kickass fighter, Tim. But you’re just human. This is too dangerous.”

Oh. Wow. Tim hadn’t heard that argument in a while. Back home, heroes feared the ‘just human’ Bats more than they feared their super-powered, super-invulnerable, super-whatever peers. Ever Red Robin was starting to make a real name for himself, especially after he’d orchestrated the League of Assassins' biggest failure in the History of failures. Tim was _always_ overpowered by his enemy, but he always _won_.

Then again, what did he care? These guys weren’t his best friends. They were a version of them, one that clearly didn’t know Tim that well, or had _any_ respect for the archer.

He said it before, he needed the time alone. Whoever this Leviathan was, he had excellent timing.

“Fine,” Tim conceded blankly, “I think my shooting’s a bit rusty anyway.”

“Look, Tim,” Cassie said in her Robin tone, “we don’t want you to feel-“

“It’s _fine_ , Wonder Girl,” Tim insisted, “Now all of you go before I change my mind and follow you.”

Without any other words out of fear of hurting the fragile Tim Drake, the team moved out, leaving said Tim Drake alone in the house.

He took the opportunity to snoop around the house, avoiding the cameras.

Things were more or less the same, except for a few changes. For one, the tiny training room his YJ team had used to show off each other’s skills had been turned into a much bigger, much more functional training facility. It was equipped with every installation each individual needed to hone their abilities. There was even an isolated arena for metahumans to go all out against each other.

There was also a new hangar, which seemed to serve as a garage for the Super-Cycle and whatever plane the YJ team had taken off on. Luckily, the Super-Cycle was sleeping; God knew the vehicle acted like a hug deprived puppy dog on most days.

Lastly, and the greatest change in the house, was a central computer. They hadn’t had a central computer in the mansion in Tim’s world. Back at the mountain, yes, but simply because it was a decommissioned Justice League headquarters. 

They weren’t the Teen Titans, but they weren’t his Young Justice either. This incarnation seemed halfway between the two, and not just because of the members on the roster. They didn’t have the Teen Titans' experience and reputation, but they weren’t twelve year olds either. Kids didn't stay kids forever.

It didn’t take five minutes for Tim to get into the systems and have access to all files. His first priority was Leviathan - it was the immediate threat. After all, Cassie had pointed out he’d attacked Red Devil when the young hero was alone. There was a chance he’d come after Tim at the moment. Separating your enemies was a basic strategy.

Cassie was a great leader in this world too, she just wasn’t used to playing chess with her villains yet.

A face popped out on the screen. It was a face Tim had never seen before, one of a ten or twelve year old with dark brown eyes, a rich brown skin, and light brown hair. The file affiliated him with the League of Assassins. He had attacked Young Justice multiple times in the past, the earlier attempts dating back three years ago. He had never used any of Ra’s ninjas, nor given a reason for the attacks. And he usually attacked them when they were together and at the YJ mansion.

He wasn’t a metahuman as far as YJ knew, but he was smart and tricky. He knew all their weaknesses and -

_Oh shit._

The file read:

Name: Damian Al Ghul, son of Talia Al Ghul and Bane


	2. Who's driving the car?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YJ sets out to take their revenge on Leviathan. Damian sets out to destroy YJ once and for all. Both end up fighting Bizarro. Go figure.

They were a whole lot more foolish than Damian had anticipated. It was one thing to fall for such an obvious trap - but to land an easily recognisable jet not too far from where they thought their archenemy was hiding? Had no one taught them anything? Damian’s sensors had gone off in a cacophony; they’d managed to trigger every single one of them. Normally, Damian would have been ecstatic that his plans were going better than expected, but this was just pathetic. And they called themselves his rivals?

His mother had always taught him to measure himself not by the strength of his peers, but by that of his enemies.

And frankly, this was a huge hit to his ego.

Besides, if they were that brain damaged then - then not everything in his plan would go smoothly. He needed at least one of them to figure it out, otherwise everything was going to spiral out of control.

Damian muted all his devices and crawled out of the vents he used as a command room. Quietly, he dropped on the beams supporting the warehouse’s ceiling and crouched there waiting. He was dressed in basic black ninja garb and blended in well with the shadows.

He couldn’t mess this up. His parents’ grip was tightening around his neck and if he didn’t get results soon enough - Damian knew better than to think they’d have the charity to kill him. He had to prove himself, prove that he was worthy of being the heir of the Al Ghuls. _A last chance_ , his mother’s words echoed in his head, _one, last, chance_.

It wasn’t personal. He had nothing against Young Justice, except maybe for their lack of trying. However, he wasn’t playing - this trap could kill them. All of them. It was perfect, to the last detail, except if -

Was that his heart beating so fast? He was Damian Al Ghul for God’s sake! He didn’t get scared or anxious - not even when he was taking a gamble of this scale. 

But if things did go wrong, he’d never - They couldn’t. They couldn’t go wrong. He wouldn’t let it happen, even if it killed him. He’d learnt too much to make such a big mistake. He was in control, and he’d make them proud. All of them.

The warehouse he’d furnished had originally been a hangar for boats out of water. It was huge, and had been completely empty. Now, Damian had added metallic towers and floors and staircases to transform it into a huge labyrinth. He knew Wonder Girl and Blue Beetle could easily blast through everything, not to mention their teleporters Secret and Cat Girl. The labyrinth wasn’t there to make them lost - it was just there to hide his traps. Hopefully, he’d taunt them to smash the way he needed them to.

The door of the warehouse creaked opened. No one came in for a minute, but Damian could hear their breaths. Then, a head popped in and then-

**CRASH!**

**ROOOOOOOOOOAR!**

And then Doomsday came crashing through the damn ceiling.

The humongous beast nearly crushed Damian on the rafters but the eleven year old managed to swing to safety, rolling as he landed. Every instinct he’d ever developed kicked in as he found a relatively safe corner in the warehouse. First priority was safe footing - which he was quickly running out of with Doomsday smashing through all his constructions like they were made of hay. The upper levels of his labyrinth wouldn’t hold for long - but he’d lose the upper hand in a fight if he went too low and -

That wasn’t Doomsday.

Why the hell would _Doomsday_ crash his operation anyway? 

…Not that it made much more sense for _Bizarro_ to. Seriously, what the hell?

The deformed clone of Superman stood up groggily, dusting himself as debris fell to the ground.

Damian’s first thought was that Young Justice must have planned it, having noticed the trap. Unfortunately, Young Justice seemed just as bewildered as he was.

“Is that _Bizarro_?” Zatara asked, clearly tense.

“We can’t _fight_ Bizarro!” Secret reminded her peers.

“It was a trap,” Wonder Girl spat, “I don’t know how but he knew we were coming - Leviathan must have somehow arranged for Bizarro to be here!”

He hadn’t. He honestly hadn’t. Damian had absolutely no clue what Bizarro was doing there.

So if he hadn’t brought Bizarro here, and if Young Justice hadn’t brought him here either, then who was driving the car? Damian wasn’t naive enough to think this was coincidence. Sure, Bizarro was unpredictable at best but the only person in Young Justice he’d have been remotely involved with was Superboy, and Superboy had quit the hero business at least two years prior. The monstrosity literally had no reason to be there.

He’d planned for many hiccups in his plans. Plans never went off without a hitch and Damian had had backups for equipment malfunction, a badly timed bout of flu or an unknown new addition to YJ but what on Earth was he supposed to do for Bizarro? The chance of Bizarro literally dropping in was so inconsequential that Damian hadn’t even considered the possibility. Bizarro was to eventualities what raining meatballs was to weather forecast.

Unfortunately, as Young Justice and Damian drowned in a whole lot of confusion, Bizarro managed to shake his off. He snapped towards YJ, his eyes blazing red in preparation of heat vision.

“WHO TAKE MY FRIEND?” He demanded, snarling at the young heroes, “WHO TAKE MY FRIEND?”

“He has friends?” Kid Flash asked.

“Look up there,” Blue Beetle said to his teammates, pointing at Damian, “Leviathan!”

Bizarro swivelled towards Damian and suddenly Damian felt very small. He was more than aware that while Bizarro was not evil, he was deemed a _Justice League_ level _threat_ when he went on rampage.

“WHO TAKE MY FRIEND?” Bizarro repeated, this time actually blasting the wall next to Damian’s head. It was a good thing the eleven year had the reflexes he did.

“Looks like your plan backfired, Leviathan!” Impulse mocked.

“ _That_ was not my plan!” Damian returned with a sneer, before pointing at YJ, “It is now though. _They_ took your friend, Bizarro.”

“Shit,” Kid Flash said with his usual eloquence.

“DUCK!” Wonder Girl ordered, immediately dispersing the team as Bizarro charged towards them like a Rhino.

“Leviathan lied,” Cat Girl tried, “ _He_ took your friend!”

_Shit_ , Damian thought.

“YOU LIE TO BIZARRO? YOU TAKE MY FRIEND?” Bizarro roared, nearly fly-tackling Damian who barely escaped with a quick somersault.

“They’re trying to trick you,” Damian told him with urgency as he landed on a rail, “ _I_ want to _help_ you find your friend,” _imbecile_ , he nearly added.

“YOU BIZARRO FRIEND?” Bizarro questioned, looking completely lost.

“Er… Of course,” Damian confirmed, mentally gagging in disgust, “I’ll be your… friend.”

“Crap, anyone has some blue kryptonite?” Kid Flash asked without much hope.

“I can’t believe we’re losing a befriending competition to the demon spawn of hell,” Zatara deadpanned.

_Wait_ , Damian thought, Bizarro was a gift in disguise. He could use this, since Kid Devil had obviously not been enough. In fact, he wouldn’t really have a choice in the matter. As the monster attacked YJ, Damian reevaluated his next steps. Bizarro alone was enough, perhaps it was wiser to cut down on the extra drama.

His eyes drifted to the YJ team trying to hold Bizarro back. They knew each other well but their attacks were not coordinated. The two speedsters were trying to confound the monster - never mind that he was always confounded - or trip him somehow but nothing they did had enough brute strength to do any more than slow him down. Zatara was throwing tricks and conjured items at him, but none of his spells could affect the creature directly, and Bizarro had every bit of resistance that Superman had. Cat Girl and Secret were both teleporting around, avoiding hits and laser beams; neither of them were suited for this kind of battle.

The only ones doing real damage were Blue Beetle and Wonder Girl. However, as long as they did not time their hits with whatever Zatara and the speedsters were up to, Bizarro recovered too quickly.

They were all sidekicks - and that was the problem. None of them were used to taking the lead. They could do distraction but not the give the main punch. It was only a matter of time before one of the teleporters or the speedsters didn’t get out of the way quite fast enough. Before a string of heat vision hit one of the young heroes in a moment of distraction. They would all tire before the monster. And then they would die.

A scream of agony interrupted his thoughts. Wonder Girl had collapsed on the ground, hissing in pain. Her left arm and leg were completely burnt - a vat of acid had exploded on her because of Bizarro’s rampage. It had been one of the traps Damian had set. Amazons and Demigods weren’t Kryptonians and their invulnerability only went so far. Their skin and bones were much harder than that on a normal man but once past that shell, their organs were vulnerable. The vat had been there to strip Wonder Girl of her protection partially - and then Damian should have struck.

“Cassie!” Kid Flash called out, appearing at her side.

The problem with this plan was that Bizarro was bringing the whole warehouse down. Trails of fire were burning every walls where Bizarro had attempted to disintegrate a speedster or two with his eyes. Damian himself had to move constantly and he knew it was only a matter of time before the warehouse collapsed on itself. Buried alive was not Damian’s end goal.

The eleven year old snuck off as the Blue Beetle blasted Bizarro to the door. He had created a few escape paths and with all the fake walls and floors he’d installed, no one would see him.

Damian climbed a small window, landing on the metallic balcony right outside with absolutely no noise.

“Where are _you_ going?”

Damian froze. Someone had been waiting for him on the railing on the balcony. Someone dressed in red, with a bow slung over his shoulder, a ridiculous hat, and a white teddy bear stuffed in his quiver.

“Drake,” Damian practically spat out, “Aren't you supposed to be locked in your room drowning in your tears?”

“And miss the opportunity to stall you?” The archer asked, “You have a very limited window if you want to ensure my friends’ deaths.”

“I didn’t know you had so little care for you internal organs, Drake,” Damian sneered, “mind if I take your kidneys this time? You and I both know you do not have the skills to hold me back long enough.”

The archer smirked, obviously planing something. “The Justice League is on its way,” he told him.

According to his knowledge, Red Speedy wasn’t supposed to have that much confidence. Red Speedy was the weak link of YJ - most of the members spent their time watching his back and while the young man had certainly shown bouts of ingenuity, he didn’t have enough self esteem to speak up most of the time. Something was fishy.

“I figured as much,” Damian replied, narrowing his eyes and sliding his katana out of its sheath, “it looks like I’ll have to kill you before they get here.”

Drake pulled out an arrow and pulled on the string of his bow, “you can certainly try.”

And then they clashed. 

Damian immediately charged, knowing that the closer the distance, the bigger the inconvenience for an archer. However, Drake surprised him by letting his arrow drop and blocking his sword with his bow before giving the younger boy a strong kick in the stomach. With impressive speed, Drake caught his arrow midair and shot at Damian, who couldn’t move before he landed.

“Tt.”

Yes, while Drake was arguably the weak link, he was still an experienced sidekick and a skilled fighter. However, this did not match up with what he knew of Drake. Why had he approached Damian from such close quarters? Surely a marksman like himself could have found another perch to confront Damian from.

Damian grabbed the arrow with his free hand before it touched him and immediately tossed it back towards Drake. He wasn’t an idiot - he could recognise a trick arrow when he saw one.

The arrow exploded right between the two boys, sending both to the ground.

Damian landed on his feet, but Drake had the misfortune of landing in a pile of debris, halfway inside the warehouse and halfway on the balcony, his bow a few feet away from him.

The eleven year old took the opportunity to strike. He prepared some shurikens for when Drake would inevitably reach for his weapon and -

He didn’t. Drake didn’t even try to get his bow.

Instead, the archer charged straight at Damian with a lead pipe he seemed to have picked up from the debris, and batted Damian away like a baseball. Damian hit the railings hard - but neither the pain nor the blood in his mouth were enough to keep him down.

The balcony they were on was too narrow to really create distance but the move had been enough two separate the two until they were both at one end of the battlefield.

Drake spun the pipe in his hand and Damian instantly knew it was a sign of challenge. This was wrong though, all so very wrong. Yes, the Green Arrows were known to use swords as well as their bows, and Arsenal - or was it Red arrow now? - also often resorted to guns but Drake should never have had the training of a blunt weapon. It took time to master these arts; as far as Damian was concerned, Red Speedy spent his time lowering his IQ with the rest of YJ.

Unless…

A shockwave suddenly shook the balcony and both boys turned to the wall, already aware of what was about to happen. Some idiot had thrown Bizarro against the wall of the warehouse right where Damian and Drake were standing outside.

A second shockwave - someone was hitting Bizarro as he was pinned against the wall - exploded the wall, sending a waterfall of bricks between the two boys. Damian took cover by jumping to the ground. It was probably time to disappear for him, and his guess was confirmed when he saw, from the corner of his eyes, Bizarro being sent flying by a green lantern.

The Justice League was there.

Knowing they’d only catch up if he tried to run, Damian chose to hide inside. He’d learnt from the best; if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be.

He buried himself under a pile of debris too small to hide a grown adult - so it wouldn’t be checked for casualties in the aftermath - and waited.

* * *

It had felt good fighting Damian even if it wasn’t the same brat who had once tried to blow him up with the severed head of a criminal. He knew he’d surprised the twerp, and perhaps he should have toned it down a bit. The fight hadn’t been fair from the start after all; Leviathan was used to fighting a Tim Drake with a much different skill set and Tim was all too familiar with how the League of Assassins taught. It was great immaturity that had led him to taunt the boy, even if his intention had been to stall him.

Well, if he was honest, he had no regrets.

With Bizarro on the loose, Tim wouldn’t have put it past the young assassin to take advantage of the situation. Any vulture would prefer to go for the kill with weakened opponents.

As the smoke cleared from the rubble, Tim noticed that the Demon Brat had vanished. Figures. 

He dumped the teddy bear that was in his quiver so as not too raise too many questions and went to rejoin his friends.

The Justice League had sent Hal Jordan, Hawgirl, and Cyborg to deal with the situation, and while Cyborg had zapped himself away with Bizarro in tow, the two others had gathered all the young heroes and started lecturing them.

YJ wasn’t in a pretty state. Everyone was covered in dirt and clearly exhausted, and Cassie was still healing her acid burns. She wasn’t the worst, unfortunately. Bart was nursing a broken arm and Secret had somehow gotten her ribs cracked. They all looked like beaten dogs, sitting on debris as the Green Lantern gave them a long talk.

Tim frowned. Black spandex girl - who was apparently called Cat Girl - was missing.

Ah well, it was none of his business.

“This is exactly why we told you not to go after criminals!” Green Lantern was ranting, “you don’t have the experience or the maturity to strategise yet!”

“And we’ll never get it if we stay holed up inside the house!” Cassie argued, “Make an omelette, break a few eggs.”

“You nearly got yourselves killed. What were you thinking, taking on _Bizarro_? Even _we_ don’t do that without blue Kryptonite or Superman!”

“Technically the plan wasn’t to take on Bizarro,” Zach pointed out, “we wanted to take on Leviathan and Bizarro just… sort of… _happened_. Even Leviathan was surprised.”

“Do you even know how lucky you were?” Hal scoffed, “If Bizarro hadn’t crashed your little showdown, and if we weren’t actively tracking any alerts involving him…”

“I think Leviathan’s a bit less of a threat than Bizarro - he’s just human,” Bart piped in.

“Not this time,” Hawkgirl told them as she landed next to the group, “Look around, Leviathan would have slaughtered you if things had gone according to his plan.”

The winged hero gestured at the piled of ruins, and Tim could easily see what she meant. The vat of acid had only been part of the traps. There were entire containers of condensed nitrogen, weird artefacts that probably had very nefarious magical side effects, ventilators that possibly contained powerful neurotoxins, poison coated weapons, EMPs… And that was just what Tim could see on the surface. It was the kind of plan Bruce would have laid - thorough and ready for every eventuality.

Except maybe Bizarro. No one was _ever_ ready for Bizarro.

“Every one of these things is a personalised assassination plan,” Hawkgirl continued, “Leviathan’s grown up - he’s not trying to beat you anymore, he just wants you dead no matter the method.”

“We’ve survived Leviathan’s attacks before,” Impulse pointed out, “It wouldn’t have been any different.”

“Yes but it’s the first time you fight on _his_ territory,” Tim reminded them.

“Mother of-“ Shiera jumped, “when the _hell_ did you get beside me?”

“Tim?” Cassie gaped.

“So far Leviathan has always come to y - us; his only weapons were those he carried with him,” Tim elaborated, ignoring the surprised look of pretty much everyone present, “He’s great at adapting obviously. With just that he’s made me spleenless and sent Eddie to the hospital in intensive care. Think about how much damage he could do if the whole space was made to accommodate _him_ and not the opposite. Leviathan is a trained assassin, a _professional_ and a kid with _endless resources -_ he’s the heir of the Al Ghuls, for God’s sake.”

“What are you doing here Tim?” Cassie asked, confused.

Tim shrugged, “I decided to follow you in the end but I only got here when the warehouse collapsed. Crossed path with Leviathan. He’s gone, by the way. And I still have my kidneys, so there’s that. Point is, Green Lantern and Hawkgirl are right, you - _we_ need to think things through before charging in.”

“What you need,” Hal corrected, “is to stop going after people who could kill you.”

“And for that, _Wonder Girl_ is right,” Tim argued, turning to the Green Lantern with a pointed finger, “what are you planing to do with us? Let us lounge in a house until we’re eighteen and then throw us in the wild? You see us as children, and I get that. You don’t want us to die. That’s fine. We won’t stay kids forever though. Right now, we might be fine with wearing _your_ symbols and fighting _your_ fights, but you’re going to have to let us go if we’re to make our own. These costumes of ours aren’t just for show, you know. We risk death _every time_ we put them on, and it’s a choice we’ve all already made years ago. We’re not asking to stop worrying, we’re asking you to respect our decisions. Yes, we may die. But honestly? I’d rather live a short meaningful life than a long happy one.”

The devastated warehouse was completely silent, every eyes trained on Tim.

“We messed up this time,” Tim continued, “and we’ll mess up again. But if you don’t let us mess up now, we’ll mess up later. We’re not suicidal, Green Lantern, and none of us want to see our friends die. What we are though, are soldiers. We know the risks and we’ve signed the contract.”

“Oh Tim,” Secret cooed, in a tone that told Tim his message hadn’t exactly gone through as it should have.

In fact, every one was looking at him with an incredibly uncomfortable amount of pity in their eyes. Even Hawkgirl and Hal had deflated. This did not bode well.

“God, I’m sorry kid,” Hal apologised, “I’d completely forgotten…”

“Forgotten… That we’re all human beings who can make conscious decisions?” Tim guessed, or rather, hoped.

“You don’t have to act tough, Red Speedy,” Hawkgirl told him with a firm squeeze of his shoulder, “I know you want death to have some meaning right now, some sort of glory attached to it…”

What? What was she - _oh_ _come on_! This was getting ridiculous!

“Really?” Tim deadpanned, “ _Really_? I _can_ separate my personal and professional lives, you know? Not everything I do has to be about my dad’s death.” A few of his friends gasped at the mention of The Tragedy (trademark pending), “I mean, you people really have to let, it, _go_. And if one of you, _one_ , dares say the word denial I will sucker punch you _so hard_ they’ll have to send Rip Hunter to retrieve you. Trust me when I say I’m more focused than ever right now.”

Okay, so maybe that was a bit overdramatic. But the last time people had accused him of denial, he’d been immediately relegated to the status of crazy, and then he’d had to team up with the League of Assassins of all people and then - _ugh_. Things would have been a lot simpler if _anyone_ would have just humoured him. There was little that could get under Tim’s skin, but right now, in an unknown dimension, Tim was not exactly in as much emotional control as Bats usually were.

Hal raised his hands in surrender.

“I give.”

“So did you catch _anything_ of what I just said?” Tim asked, unamused. He wasn’t reciting it a second time. Leading the Teen Titans for years had made him pretty good at defending the younger heroes in face of the older ones, but that didn’t mean that he enjoyed playing social warrior. It was an ingrained reaction now though, much to his chagrin.

“Yeah, good speech kid,” Hal confirmed, before turning to the others, “is that how you all feel?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Bart said.

“Same,” Impulse nodded.

“I didn’t want to say it,” Jaime admitted, “but yeah.”

“Yes,” Secret acquiesced.

“You think?” Zach practically sneered. 

“Definitely,” Cassie nodded.

Hal sighed and looked to Hawkgirl for help, but the woman just shrugged.

“We’ll bring this up at the next Justice League meeting,” Hal promised, “but in the meantime, you still disobeyed direct orders. Hence, until we’ve come to a decision, you’re all grounded. The jet and Super Cycle will stay in the house, and if you’re not in your civilian identity, then you’re either at the house or with your mentor. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” the young heroes chorused with little enthusiasm.

Impulse raised her hand.

“Yes, Impulse?”

“Could we still go see Eddie?” Impulse wondered, “We can’t really go in our civilian identities and it would be cool to all go together.”

“Of course, but you’re bringing a chaperone,” Hal compromised, “Now scatter, midgets.”

* * *

The STAR lab facility that had been holding Bizarro had been compromised. It was a clever bit of hacking that had done the job, and from inside the facility no less. Either there was a traitor there, or someone had successfully snuck into the lab with top of the line security systems. Cyborg had been in the business long enough to know there were people out there that were just that good - both metahuman and human. It did restrict the list a bit but it wasn’t a reassuring thought.

Over the comms, Vic could hear Hal call it luck that YJ was still alive, but he was starting to have reasons to believe otherwise.

Someone had planned this. Vic wanted to say it clearly hadn’t been Leviathan but there was something suspicious in that brat as well. He’d managed to turn Bizarro against YJ, but why hadn’t he fought besides the clone? Bizarro was the muscle, the distraction - none of the kids could have taken an eye off him while he was still rampaging. It was the perfect opportunity to kill them all quickly. Or was the child just that afraid of Bizarro?

As soon as Bizarro was tightly secured, Vic zapped himself back to the Watchtower.

It was more likely there’d been a third party though, and that, was not as reassuring as he’d wanted. Sure, whoever this third party were, they’d saved YJ. But why? A player with obscure intentions didn’t set well with Vic. Especially if they were involved with YJ. No, not just involved, they were playing with YJ. Vic was thorough in his investigation, he hadn’t just checked STAR labs mainframe. Someone had hacked into YJ’s jet’s GPS and slowed them down considerably by making them do a few circles. Everything had been planned down to the second.

Cyborg may not have had a sidekick in the team, but YJ had always been the Justice League’s protégé. And when it came to their kids, no parent let strangers come close.

They were up against a hacker, and a damn good one too. They weren’t Cyborg or Gorgon or even Blue Beetle, but they were good enough to be threat, and part of Cyborg admired them for it. Because while the three aforementioned heroes could break into any system and get any information they desired, their opponent was a chess player, and if they’d been able to control Bizarro into unwittingly working for them, how well could they play the Justice League?

“Hey Vic!” Hal called, returning from lecturing said kids. Shiera was walking next to him, both exiting the teleporters right behind him. “What d’you find out about the break out?”

“Bizarro didn’t do it on his own, if that’s what you’re asking,” Vic replied, “I think we need to look deeper into it. Something’s not right with this story, man.”

“If you can’t find anything else,” Shiera advised, “Bring it up at the next meeting. Maybe Ted will find something you overlooked.”

Vic nodded.

“Don’t forget to put the blue kryptonite back, Shiera,” Hal reminded the winged hero.

“Who do you take me for?” Shiera clicked her tongue as she reached into her pockets, “Of course I’ll put… it… ba… - Wait, are you sure I didn’t hand it to either of you?”

Hal and Vic shared a worried look.

“I don’t have it,” Vic told her with certainty, “It messes up with my systems.”

“I don’t have pockets,” Hal told her too as she started patting down her body more frantically, “did you lose it?”

“No!” Shayera quickly denied, “I mean, it was in my pockets, I _know_ it was!”

“Search again,” Hal said and Hawkgirl returned an unamused look, “that is not a laughing matter.”

“It’s not there,” she insisted, “It’s not - maybe I dropped it at the warehouse?”

Hal shook his head, “I scanned the place for casualties before leaving. Believe me, the ring wouldn’t miss a chunk of kryptonite _that_ big.”

“I’m placing the Bizarro case on priority,” Vic decided with a steely voice.

“You don’t think…?”

“Bizarro going against YJ is guaranteed to get our attention,” Vic told them, “whoever made that happen was trying to draw us out. And then the kryptonite we brought goes missing? That’s not a coincidence. It can’t be. Someone went through a lot of trouble to get that chunk of kryptonite.”

They could play them well, apparently. Too well.

* * *

In the end, it took about two hours before all the heroes packed up and moved out from the warehouse. By the time Damian rose from the mess, nothing and no one was left. The warehouse was basically a pile of smoke and Damian recognised the vestiges of some of his more elaborate traps among the rubble. Only one thing stood out: the plushy Red Speedy had carried in his quiver.

There was a childishly handcrafted medallion hung around the teddy bear’s neck, on which was inscribed ‘BIZARRO FRIEND’.

_Humph! Well played_ , Damian thought to his dismay.

It seemed he was correct after all, the archer wasn’t who he said to be. Red Speedy was not capable of crafting such an elaborate plan.

No, there was only one person he knew who had the brilliance, the arrogance, and the balls to sic one of the most dangerously unpredictable creatures on Earth on his own friends just to catch the Justice League’s attention and ensure there was not half a chance Damian could raise a single finger against them.

Damian grinned.

Red _Robin_ was stuck in this dimension too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! Next up: Oliver Queen is a good dad, Tim plans more crap and someone else wakes up in an unfamiliar world.


	3. Batman Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has a father. He has a family. And he was going to do everything he could to reunite with them - which is not something that bodes well for the Universe. In the past, Tim's plans have involved throwing a family with two children in the line of fire and double crossing the League of assassins, making every Bat-related individual a target in the backslash. Which hornets' nest is he going kick this time?

“You sure you want to do this, Tim?” Queen asked him as his car came to a stop in front of an apartment building. It was definitely one of the nicer buildings of Keystone City, almost made completely of glass.

“Yeah,” Tim replied, getting out of the car.

Queen just nodded and followed him inside. He tossed him a key set as they passed the front door, and Tim immediately figured out why. The wall was lined with the mailboxes of the tenants, and one name stood out: Jack Drake.

“Just ads,” Tim said to no one in particular.

“It wasn’t just you he cut himself from, Tim,” Queen told him. There was an ounce of apprehension in his voice, as if he feared Tim would blow up, “He didn’t want _anyone_ to see how sick he was.”

Ah. Well that explained most of it. Tim’s father must have sent Tim to live the Arrows without informing his son of his condition. It was no wonder Tim shut himself off - the death must have been sudden, and any anger towards his father revealed to be misguided. 

Tim noted the apartment number in his mind, and went to the elevator. Uncovering what he could about Other Tim was an essential step to set up his safety net; grief would only be an excuse for so long. It was a bit scary to see how easily he could take advantage of the emotional circumstances of Other Tim to get more info - he was starting to become Bruce, and he wasn’t sure what he thought of that. Queen was genuinely worried for him; Tim was just working another impersonal case.

The archer didn’t even argue when Tim asked to go in alone.

Other Jack Drake’s apartment was too small to house a family and too big to be a normal bachelor pad. Following Bruce’s methodology, Tim went through the rooms one by one, stashing any electronic devices or notebooks in his backpack. These could be studied at a later time - a crime scene wasn’t open indefinitely. 

There was a room stuffed with Other Tim’s belongings, perhaps from a previous house they shared. Tim noticed a bow and a yellow hat he had only seen in old Teen Titans photos. Clearly Jack Drake had known of his son’s other occupation. They had been close. The house was covered in picture of their family and from these, Tim could retrace the Drake History.

They were from Gotham as well but the events of No Man’s Land had moved them to Keystone city instead. The Earthquake had taken his mother’s life and clearly the Drakes hadn’t recovered easily. Keystone wasn’t that far from Star City; it was pretty easy to guess that that was where Tim had gotten sucked into the vigilante lifestyle.

A picture of Tim with a civilian Kon dated two and half years back. Tim’s hands were nowhere as callused as they were currently: it was at the beginning of his career.

Tim froze as his eyes landed on a monopoly board lying at the bottom of a drawer. His father had always loved that board game; he’d been one of the few people who didn’t get too competitive over trying to bankrupt his family and friends. They’d played a lot when Tim was very young, but not so much as he grew.

Just like his room back at the Queen residence, this apartment was that of _Jack Drake_ , and Tim was suddenly becoming a bit too aware of it. It was his smell, his horrible taste in furniture. There was a stain of marinara sauce on the carpet - extra salty, no doubt, with too much parmesan. He knew that if he’d opened the fridge, he’s find a stock of peach Ice Tea - the one that was much too sweet and artificial, a bunch of reheat-able meals - because his father couldn’t cook to save his life, and -

A week ago, Jack Drake was still living in this apartment.

 _Living_.

There were no spider webs, no dust, no putrid smell of rotting, and the morning light was gently flitting through the windows. This wasn’t the apartment of a dead man. Tim could almost imagine the man waltzing in in his own stern but careless attitude. Part of him believed that if he'd touch a chair or a bed, he'd find it to still be warm. If he’d arrive in this world earlier, would he have been able to snatch just a little bit of time with him?There were pictures of Jack Drake being older than he’d ever been in Tim’s world, because for Tim, it had already been _three years_. 

Tim almost wanted to laugh in derision. Other Tim, Other Jack - what had he been _thinking_? He’d dismissed this Jack Drake’s death so easily. Truth is, it _should_ have hit him hard, it _should_ have destroyed him. The death of his father wasn’t something to get over and stash in a corner of his mind - it was _supposed_ to _hurt_ and _bleed_ , because that’s how Tim knew he still cared.

When had he started thinking of his own father as a memory?

Dick had once told him how guilty he’d felt when he realised he’d accepted his parents deaths. It was scary feeling, having the sadness slowly slip between one’s fingers.

But maybe, maybe he wasn’t as over it as he had thought he was.

Looking around at those three years Other Tim had gotten with his father was a painful reminder of three years he’d never had. They looked so happy, so close - Tim was aware his own relationship with his father hadn’t been perfect. They’d always been some kind of distant. Either it was Jack taking his son for granted, or Tim focusing on the ‘R’ on his chest. They’d been much closer after the War Games though, when the secrets had blown and Jack had accepted him and his mission. They’d been working towards better times and then-

And then he’d died.

Tim couldn’t help the spark of jealousy. These happy pictures were what could have been - and even then Jack Drake died far too soon. It wasn’t fair.

“Tim? Son, you’ve been in there for an hour and- oh.“

Tim turned to see Queen standing at the door of the living room. The archer’s eyes flickered to Tim’s cheeks and out of reflex, the teen raised his hand there self-consciously. It was wet - was he - was he crying?

“I wasn’t-“ Tim wanted to deny, but Queen had already taken a few steps forward.

“It’s okay, Tim,” the older vigilante soothed, gently embracing Tim in a warm hug, “It’s okay.”

And Tim felt a bit guilty when he found he enjoyed the contact. He always liked to remind older heroes that he could protect himself, that he didn’t to be coddled and that he could take heavy hits, physical or emotional. He was a Bat after all; a master of his own emotions, a rational being and a disciplined fighter.

“Hal told me about how you defended YJ two days ago,” Queen said as he stroked Tim’s hair reassuringly, “I think he’d be proud of you. I know I am." 

And yet being wrapped up in a bear hug made him feel safe, and that was nice. He didn’t get many hugs as a student of the Bat.

But it was just a moment, because all this was wrong.

He’d made a mistake thinking he was Bruce, that he could numb his heart for his mind. He wasn’t strong enough to face Jack Drake’s death with clinical detachment yet - to find motivation in grief. And no matter what people said about their relationship, Jack Drake _had_ been his father. He had flipped out when Tim had gotten ‘stuck’ in No Man’s Land, he had understood when Tim had been too attached to Gotham to leave, and he’d worried to death when he’d known Tim was out facing criminals at night.

But he had another father now, and it wasn’t the man hugging him.

Yes, Jack Drake had died and yes, Queen was being kind, but Tim needed Bruce, and Bruce needed Tim. When Bruce had been taken away from him, Tim had travelled the world to get him back. Someone had taken Tim away this time, and he’d stop at nothing, _nothing_ , to get back to his family. His _real_ family.

Tim Drake and Red Speedy could go to hell.

He was Tim _Wayne_ now, and Red _Robin_.

* * *

“You sure you want to do this, Tim?” Queen asked him as his car came to a stop in front of a hospital.

“Are you going to ask this every time I go somewhere?” Tim asked, raising a brow. They had changed cars and outfits, and it wasn’t Oliver Queen and Tim Drake talking anymore. It was Green Arrow and his sidekick Red Speedy.

“You’re right, son,” Queen rolled his eyes, “Let’s just ignore the emotional breakdown you just had a few hours ago, never talk about it again and go on with our day.”

“I knew you’d understand,” Tim grinned.

Queen slapped him on the upside of his head and Tim laughed. Cyborg and the other members of YJ were already waiting at the entrance. Normally, a bunch of costumes in front of a hospital was a bad idea, but this was no normal hospital. It was affiliated to STAR labs, and specialised in treating metahumans.

Queen caught Tim’s hand before he could shut the car door. It didn’t take being the detective Tim was to know he wanted to say something, but his eyes spoke all the words he needed to. There was a spark of fear and helplessness there, along with sadness and a great deal of empathy. The archer was worried, genuinely worried for Tim’s well being. He cared so much Tim almost wanted to apologise.

“I’ll be fine,” he said instead, squeezing Queen’s hand with his other, “I promise.”

Tim met his ‘mentor’s’ gaze dead on, and Queen allowed it reluctantly.

With a small smile, Tim turned around and climbed the stairs over to his friends. He greeted Cyborg politely after having exchanged the usual “what’s up nerds” with the rest of his team. Tim had to keep a decent relationship with his ‘friends’ he knew. They were nowhere as observant as the older superheroes, and have proved themselves quite willing to leave Red Speedy behind. He hated himself for thinking it, but they were easier to manipulate than Queen.

And so Tim was going to suffer through this hospital visit, even if he wanted nothing more but to return to his laptop. He’d learnt a lot about who was who in this world thanks to the internet, but he hadn’t made the time to hack into the Watchtower just yet. He basically knew what the general public knew, and having lived on the other side of the rumour mill for years, Tim was well aware there was much more to uncover.

He also tried not to think too hard about the fact that Eddie was _dead_ back in his world. Blown up.

Because there he was, in all his Kid Devil-ness.

According to the doctors (though in this particular hospital, they were much more akin to researchers), Eddie’s body was stabilising the injuries and preventing further blood loss. However, it also led the doctors to have trouble inserting IV drips and operating on the boy, as his body temperature was too high.

Times like these were when Tim was glad he was human. _Know your body,_ Bruce had always told him, _control it_. They all regularly tested and updated their body limits; breathing time underwater, running time, benchpress, resistance to poisons, resistance to extreme temperature, time without sleep, reflex speed… The simple thought of not knowing what could and couldn’t hurt him was scary. He didn’t know how Clark or Beast Boy or any metahuman lived without being in a constant state of paranoia.

Maybe it had something to do with super healing and super endurance. Fat load of good it did them obviously.

There were different kinds of ‘super healing.’ Bruce had categorised twelve of them so far. Some people healed by reversing time, others by having fast multiplicative cells, and others by not really being alive in the first place, for example. Depending on the mechanism, all metahumans with healing factors could not heal to the same degree. Superman could come back from practically anything, Kid Devil needed a functioning brain, a functioning digestive system, and a functioning heart.

And judging by the stab wounds on the teenager’s stomach, it was something the Demon Brat had been very well aware of. Tim had to say, the kid had done a spectacular job.

Retracing the marks on his friend’s body, Tim could easily replay the fight in his head. It had started with a surprise kick to the head, which without doubt ended with Eddie bashing his head violently against something very hard. He’d given the older boy a concussion before the later had had the time to raise his body heat, and then insured he’d be too disoriented to. Then, while Eddie was trying to regain his bearings, Damian had quickly pierced his liver and intestines - to keep him from healing more definitely, before slashing clean through his throat and breaking a few bones as an afterthought.

It was lucky Kid Devil’s wounds cauterised quickly. Had Damian gone straight to the heart though…

Tim frowned.

“Are you trying to get a tan from Eddie?” Bart suddenly asked, making Tim jump.

Everyone was looking at him, and Tim only now realised he had been inspecting Kid Devil’s body a bit too closely.

He had completely forgotten the crowd of teenagers and kids with ‘get well’ balloons and violently pink plushies sitting in the room with him. Even Cyborg looked like he wanted to laugh.

“Fire doesn’t make people tan,” Tim pointed out, “the sun’s UV do.”

“Seriously though,” Zach asked, “do you sniff every shirtless guy you see?”

“I wasn’t sniffing,” Tim grimaced, “I was just inspecting the wounds, there’s something weird about them.”

“Like the fact they haven’t healed yet?” Cassie suggested, interested.

“No, that’s normal,” Tim dismissed, “I’m talking about the fact that Eddie isn’t dead. Look at how many wounds he has on his stomach.”

“Not that many,” Impulse frowned, “There are only two, and they’re tiny.”

“Exactly,” Tim pointed out, “because Leviathan is surgically precise. So why did he go through the trouble of breaking Eddie’s bones instead of stabbing him straight to the heart when he was down and unconscious?”

“Maybe it didn’t happen after,” Zach sighed, impatiently waiting for Tim to get to the point, “Maybe it happened during the struggle.”

“But there _was_ no struggle,” Tim elaborated, “look at his hands and arms, and his feet: they’re untouched, despite being the first limbs on the line of combat. And I’ve read the reports: there wasn’t a sign of fire at the scene. Eddie was out from the start. Besides, The angle of the breaks and the stabbing wounds don’t match. Leviathan stabbed him when Eddie was standing and kicked his ribs broken when Eddie was lying on the ground. He wouldn’t have been able to stand again with that kind of injury.”

“You got all that from _sniffing_ him?” Bart whistled, impressed.

“I wasn’t sniffing him!” Tim groaned.

“What are you trying to imply, Tim?” Cassie frowned.

“I’m just saying that there’s an inconsistency in our assessment of Leviathan,” Tim told them, “his intentions and his actions don’t-“

Oh.

Oh wait.

Leviathan had been very quick to leave the scene the other day, Tim noticed. That wasn’t the usual course of action of an assassin with a target. It was almost as if he’d jumped on the occasion to give up on his hit.

Which meant... Leviathan didn’t _want_ to kill YJ. The League of Assassins forcing his hand, and the League of Assassins didn't take failure well; defection was even worst. However, if Leviathan had managed to trick the Justice League and Tim himself into believing he’d been serious about slaughtering the young heroes, he’d have fooled his mother too for sure. Damian’s plan had been a work of art amongst the greatest assassinations in History. Not even Talia or Ra’s could blame the extremely bizarre (pun intended) circumstances that had ruined it.

That left two big questions though. One, what would he have done if not for Tim’s intervention? Even if he didn’t _want_ to kill YJ, there was no telling if he wouldn’t have been _capable_ of doing it to save his hide.

Two, and most importantly, was that a _change_ of heart? Because if it was, what were the chances of Tim not having been sent to this world alone?

Tim could hear his heart speed up in excitement. His mind was reeling like mad, thoughts roaring as he played with possibilities. If this was his Damian, then who else was here? How big was this?

“Tim?” Bart asked, “Dude? Buddy? Bro? Did we lose you again?”

“Sorry,” Tim apologised sheepishly, half his mind still stuck on the memory of a dark skinned kid with metaphorical shark teeth and a bright yellow 'R' on his chest, “to be honest, I don’t know what this means. Just thought it was worth pointing out.”

All he knew for now was that Damian needed the world to think he was out for YJ’s blood. If the truth ever came out, there was a chance he’d be killed by the League of Assassins, and Tim didn’t want the blood of an eleven year old on his hand. He needed to make sure which Damian he was anyway, so it was best not to do anything until they’d had another face to face.

Which meant he needed to figure out how to arrange one.

With them all being grounded, sneaking off was going to be a downright challenge, and he didn’t even know where Damian spent his days. His best bet was luring the League out, getting _them_ to come to _him_ and shanghai Damian during the confrontation.

Hence he needed:  
\- to taunt the League of Assassins (easy)  
\- to make sure he wasn’t directly involved in the conflict so as to leave no trace  
\- to create a challenge big enough that the League would send more than just Damian  
\- to have enough people at his side to occupy the League  
\- to create enough chaos that no one would notice them leaving (very easy)

Tim’s thoughts travelled to the box under his bed at Queen’s house. The one that contained a certain chunk of kryptonite he’d _accidentally_ come across recently ( _Always carry some form of kryptonite with you_ , Bruce often said, _always_ ). He hadn't actually though about it until he'd seen Hawkgirl pocket the rock at the warehouse, but it was as Seneca said: luck comes when preparation meets opportunity.

Oh he was _so_ going to Hell for this plan.

* * *

People always told him he never got enough sleep - in fact, some of his colleagues were convinced he just didn’t sleep at all. Then again, the same colleagues also believed he was part vampire, so he wasn’t too sure they were a reference. Of course, from a scientific point of view, Bruce knew that a little more sleep would be greatly appreciated by his health. Nevertheless his average of four hours of sleep per day (and yes, he meant _day_ \- he rarely slept when the moon was out) was enough to keep him aware and vigilant, he’d made sure of that.

Unfortunately, waking up behind the wheel told him that maybe he’d taken that turn a bit too close to the line. He managed to catch himself before he created an accident but that wasn’t the point. Zoning off like that was unacceptable.

No - this wasn’t him. None of this was on him. Drugs? Magic? He couldn’t tell the cause for now but there was no denying something was terribly wrong. The atmosphere was wrong. It was night time, in the middle of the Gotham rush our, and Bruce was driving his own car dressed in a suit. There were yellow, red and orange lights flashing at him from the cars in front and the lampposts and Bruce knew that if he’d been there of his will, he’d have a better recollection of where he had wanted to go. His memory was too fuzzy - the kind of fuzzy where he just couldn’t tell where it had cut off - and yet he was entirely too alert for his mind to be compromised.

His body felt off. His muscles didn’t contract the way he was used too and the omnipresent dull pains were, well, gone. Yet, he felt more sluggish, more - was that a beer gut? He couldn’t believe it. There was actual fat on his stomach. Bruce burnt more calories than he ate and he was pretty sure that wasn’t biologically possible. Alfred had tried for years to fatten him up, but all Bruce could produce was more and more muscle. This was… worrisome.

He needed to go home and check it out. Find out what had happened in the last twenty four hours and all that. The radio on his car gave him the date, but for some unexplainable reason, Bruce just couldn’t tell if it was the right one.

Bruce suffered through thirty minutes of traffic before taking the road to his house, which was thankfully too far from any other habitations for there to be any other cars on the way. He knew he was too tense, but this was the kind of situation that actually terrified him. He hated not knowing. Not knowing meant there were holes in the wall of his fortress, holes no one was watching, holes his enemy could slip in from. Not knowing meant he couldn’t protect anyone for sure - that any madman could blow up cities and it would all be Bruce’s fault, because he _hadn’t known_.

He had to know. Knowing is what made him Batman. Knowing is what made him reliable. Knowing is the only thing he had.

And this, here? Too many variables. Had someone gotten hold of him? Had someone messed with his mind? Had he forgotten something? How long had he been out? What else had been done to his body? Did someone else _know_?

The only reason Bruce wasn’t having a full blown panic attack was that he’d long learnt how to suffocate these with a metaphorical pillow. Mind over matter. He had to subdue his panic, look for clues, understand his situation before reacting to it.

Bruce was approaching the Manor when he was alerted to something even more suspicious.

The side-road that led to the Batcave was not there. It was just, _not there_. It was usually hidden by construction signs or overgrown vegetation or whatever new clever trick Alfred had thought of, but Bruce liked to think he could tell when it _existed_.

The man pulled to a stop and walked over to where the all too familiar path should have been. It was so strange not to see it there. It was just like before he’d become Batman.

Time travel?

Not possible. His body wasn’t young enough. If it even was his body - no, it was. He had moles in the right places.

The Detective took over in his mind. Without further hesitation, Bruce walked the path that had gone, hyper alert for any cameras or sensors. The area looked frankly abandoned, wilder than it was in his memory. The complete absence of bats despite it being the dead of the night was unsettling. They usually couldn’t wait to get out of the cave, with all the ruckus Bruce and his associates were making in there.

It soon became clear why that was though.

Bruce found the entrance to the cave as raw as bleeding meat. There was no fancy garage entrance, or even a runway for the car. Good thing Bruce had left his by the road.

His nosiness verging dangerously on curiosity, Bruce stepped into the cave, and he’d never felt younger in his life.

Some say one of life’s greatest tragedy was that you could never see your favourite movie again for the first time. And yet, there Bruce was, a simple man, discovering this titanic cave again, just like he had all those years ago. It was such a distant memory that Bruce hadn’t realised how much it had overwhelmed him, to feel so small after having been a giant his whole life. He’d grown so used to the cave he’d tamed, sculpted and twisted into his kingdom… Here, there was no hum of electricity, no one sparing in the background, no computer running some kind of analysis - just the flaps of wings and a darkness darker than the night.

He was back to the beginning, when his crusade hadn’t taken such an industrial magnitude yet. Back when it hadn’t been all about computers and reputation -

Back when it was just him and the bats.

Bruce felt a bat fly past him - one he hadn’t even noticed. He couldn’t see as well as them in this complete darkness, but he could feel. The stale, cold and suffocating air, the smell of mineral, the echo of every breath; he could imagine the stalagmites and the walls of this cave, the sheer emptiness that loomed over his head.

He couldn’t tell what it was about this moment - he was in a body that felt like it was a stranger’s, his mind was unreliable and everything he’d ever worked for was gone - but he felt something reconnect in his heart. Like he'd taken a step back and finally seen where things had gone wrong. There were nights where he was so busy frantically pulling his mind in every direction that he’d forget to look at the symbol on his own chest.

It was his. He’d made it his. And that symbol defined him in return. 

Bruce travelled through the cave, tripping and scratching his hands. His body didn’t cooperate as much as he was used to, and he didn’t have any of the material that was strongly recommended for spelunking without a dying wish, but he couldn’t stop. He felt twenty years younger.

He climbed up to a small opening on the surface, fully aware where it would lead him. It opened on the backyard of Wayne Manor - not far from where the second part of his identity lied.

Mechanically, Bruce pulled himself on the ground, feeling the fresh grass on his palms. He was a rowdy little child again; his clean suit was far past washable now, and his hair was a mess. He was slightly out of breath, which was highly unusual after so little effort, but he could easily walk the next few steps towards -

They were gone.

His parents were gone.

And all the self discovery he’d just gone through was flushed down the toilet just like that.

He’d spend so much time in front of those graves that he knew every chip and dent in the stone. He knew how the light hit them at sunset, sunrise and anything in between. He knew how long it took for moss to grow after a rainy day.

And yet the earth in their place was left unturned, as if nothing had ever been dug there.

“Bruce?” A small shaky voice asked.

Bruce swore. He couldn’t believe he’d let someone sneak up on him like that. He swivelled around to face the two people behind him and -

And he’d spend so much time in front of their portraits that he knew every curve, every mole and every traits of these faces. He’d recognise them covered in soot, just like he’d recognise them as babies. He’d recognise them even if they were turned into dragons or plants.

“…Mom?” He asked, too many emotions going through his head to identify the one that was commandeering his voice, “…Dad?”

They were old, so old, but it was them. Martha Wayne with her pearl necklace and lovely pastel tones. Thomas Wayne with his moustache and his dark coat. Their hair had turn grey, their skin was sagging, and their eyes were loosing colour, but - Christ - it was _them_.

“Stay away from them, you ungrateful brat!”

In a split second, a man - _Alfred_ , had stepped between Bruce and the parents he’d yearn for for thirty years, shotgun in hand, shotgun aimed at Bruce, and the most dangerous expression Bruce had ever seen. He was angry - but why was he so angry? Bruce was no stranger to greatly disapproving Alfred, but Alfred loved him like a son, and he loved Alfred like a father. So why was the older man keeping him from his parents? His _parents_!

“I _will_ shoot,” Alfred insisted.

And Bruce took a step back - because he couldn’t understand, and ignorance was one of his greatest fears.

Unfortunately, Bruce backed away into a wall - only there was no wall behind him. There wasn’t even a grave.

No, there was a man behind Bruce, one dressed like a character in a first person shooter game. He had black military gear, a full face helmet with a gas filter, and a gun.

A gun.

“Nowhere to go now, Bruce,” the man said in a modified voice, “This is going too far even for- _Oof!_ ”

Out of reflex - and because reflexes were the only functional thoughts he was having, Bruce elbowed the man behind him, shoved his head forward when he bended, and swept his feet backwards to floor him completely, him and his gun.

And then he ran to his car, because, what else was he supposed to do?

* * *

Conner couldn’t understand genetics. Clark basically spent his days reading and writing and yet Conner couldn’t even get himself to finish one flimsy book his school had assigned. He’d been on the same page for hours. _Hours_. He’d read one sentence, then move on to the next, only to realise he had no clue what the first sentence was. He read the _words_ , but their meaning just wouldn’t imprint, let alone what their combined used was supposed to do.

And the teacher wanted him to find figures of speech? Maybe a day when he wasn’t completely brain dead.

The Kryptonian clone caught his foot jumping up and down under the desk. He felt like he was going to burst if he didn’t _do_ something. He was a man of action, he had energy to spare, lots of it and - No. No, no, no. What was he thinking? That train of though was dangerous.

He’d chosen this farm life for a reason. The monotone was good. The boring was good.

“Conner!” Ma Kent called from downstairs.

“Yeah?” Conner answered lazily.

“There’s someone to see you!” She replied.

Conner sighed. The impromptu visits he got were usually his partners on whatever school project he had pending, and that he’d completely forgotten. Hoping to make the exchange quick, he opened his window and looked down at the porch of the house... only to find a relic of the past he’d worked so hard to bury waving at him.

“Hey Kon,” Tim Drake grinned, looking up, “what’s up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't counting on it, but I think i might stick with Tim's POV being the main one. Definitely not the only one though and it will probably become less prevalent as time goes.
> 
> Anywho, next up: Connor regrets ever having met Tim Drake, B still has a weakness for sad little kids, and Damian is not amused at Tim's antics (but maybe he's a little grateful for them).


	4. A World without Bats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now both aware of each other's presence, Damian and Tim work towards meeting face to face, and if meeting face to face involves pitting the League of Assassins against Superboy, so be it. Meanwhile, Bruce has slipped into his alter ego's life. He has the acting down to a pat, but the feeling? Having the heart of a superhero doesn't just go away, unfortunately.

“Hey Kon,” Tim Drake grinned, looking up, “what's up?”

Without thinking, Conner shut his windows close. He let out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He really was too tired. Must have been the homework. That kind of thing drained his mental focus like nothing else. It had never made him hallucinate in the past, but well, first time for everything, right?

He needed a break. And lots of sugar.

Conner opened the door to his room to go to the kitchen. Only, he never made it a foot in the corridor.

“Hey Kon,” Tim Drake greeted once more, standing at his doorstep.

Conner’s brain short circuited and all he could manage was freezing his face in incredulity. 

Tim had grown in the two years they hadn’t seen each other. He wasn’t incredibly tall, but he was taller than Conner remembered, and had closed the distance between them more than he’d have expected. He wasn’t the thin, breakable thing he’d met as Superboy anymore. No, this seventeen year old Tim had broader shoulder and a solid glint of confidence in his eyes.

And yet this was still Tim Drake, Red Speedy, the little shit who made sarcastic but sensible comments in their little troupe. They'd clicked immediately all these years ago, Kon and his over the top attitude and Tim with his subtle mischief. 

He remembered admiring his best friend so much in the past. He had no superpowers, no tragically devastating past - and yet he’d chosen to stand with monsters and gods against even greater powers. Tim was the level headed one, the one who kept the group together, the one who reminded them about the little guy they were fighting for. And maybe, somewhere along the line, he’d forgotten Red Speedy was just human. And that had been a mistake.

But this wasn’t Red Speedy. Red Speedy didn’t wear oversized hoodies and black jeans. Red Speedy didn’t show his bright blue eyes so openly. This was just Tim.

“Did you do that just to fuck with my brain?” Conner found himself asking, and to his surprise, it wasn’t that hard talking to Tim.

“You know me,” Tim smirked.

“Ran out of capitalist fat-cats to skewer?” Conner guessed, “Moving on to farmers who use too much pesticide?”

“Don’t joke about that,” Tim shuddered, “I think I overheard Ollie talking about raiding tampon factories for homeless women.”

Conner shrugged, “These products are hella expensive, man.”

“ _You_ would know,” Tim snorted.

“Don’t let Diana hear you make that kind of joke,” Conner replied, fighting off a smile.

“I mean, do kryptonians even have periods?” Tim suddenly asked, “Is your reproductive system even compatible with humans? How does it work? Do you lay eggs? Do you incubate? Or is it more like mitosis? I hear some species are hermaphrodites.”

“Oh my god, Tim,” Conner gasped, almost laughing despite himself, “I am _not_ discussing this with you. Tell me you didn’t come all the way to Kansas after two years of silence because you wanted to know about Superman’s dick.”

And then the elephant roared.

The easy banter fell, leaving place to a heavy, uncomfortable silence. Because it was true, wasn’t it? They hadn’t talked in two years, and it was both their fault. After the… incident, neither of them had fought for their friendship. They didn’t hate each other, they didn’t even blame each other, but clearly they hadn’t forgiven each other enough to cling on to relation. They’d just let it wither slowly but surely - like watching a cockroach in a trap writhe and die.

“What are you doing here, Tim?" Conner sighed tiredly, walking back into his room and plumping down on his bed. Tim looked like he hadn’t received the unspoken invitation to come in, but Conner knew better than that. He just wasn’t taking it.

“I'll be honest,” Tim spoke with professional serious, “I want you back on the team.”

“No,” Conner replied without hesitation, and perhaps a bit angrily, “I won’t - Christ, Tim, what did you think I was going to say?”

“I was hoping for a cry of joy and a big, excited, yes,” Tim tried to joke, “but I was kind of expecting the rejection. Is it the lack of ring?”

“Tim,” Conner warned.

“I still consider you one of my best friends, Kon,” Tim admitted, “and we made a good team. The current team - the current Young Justice, it’s a mess. We _need_ you.”

Conner chuckled, but there was no humour in it.

“I think we both know why that is,” he said.

“You've never even met Impulse, Cat Girl or Blue Beetle,” Tim reminded him, “this mess isn’t on you. Please, Kon.”

“Do the others even know you’re here?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tim dismissed.

“Yes, it does,” Conner argued, taking out his phone and showing Tim his inbox, “did you know I’ve been in touch with Cassie the whole time?” Tim blinked in surprise, and that was enough of an answer, “I know what happened after I left. What I did created a rift between you and the others and Cassie _knows_ it, she’s just too scared that-“

“That another metahuman will come around and beat me half to death?” Tim filled in with mockery. Conner didn’t know what to make of that tone. Tim had always had a slightly detached sense of humour - but not like that. How could he even speak those words without… Man, Conner didn’t even know how Tim felt about him. Fear? Anger?

“What I meant to say,” Conner continued, shoving the thoughts away, “is that I know it feels like the others are distant but they _do_ care about you.”

“That is not the issue at hand,” Tim frowned and Conner had a feeling he was losing patience. There was something cold in the way the archer was crossing his arms casually and putting all his weight on one leg.

“It is, though,” Conner replied, “Look, Tim - I heard about your father.”

Tim’s eye twitched.

“It's only been three weeks. Young Justice is treating you like a civilian, and being with Ollie feels hard because your father’s… dead. There’s a hole in your life, and you want to fill it. You don’t need me for that. Just talk to Cassie, I swear she wants it as much as you do.”

“Don't psychoanalyse me,” Tim grimaced, looking actually peeved.

“Truth hurts?”

“No,” Tim scoffed, “it’s just a bit hypocritical coming from you and your mountain of issues.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Conner frowned, honestly a bit offended.

“You _hate_ your life on the farm.” Tim elaborated, gesturing at Kon's desk, “You started all your assignments but haven’t gone past a sentence in any. There’s a dent under your desk chair where you keep tapping your foot. You’ve been fiddling with the hem of your shirt the whole time we’ve been talking. You jumped on the chance to fix my friendship with Cassie and to make me understand whatever grief you think I’m going through! You’re restless, Kon. You want to _do_ something, to _help_ someone.”

“That's not-“

“And you know what?” Tim didn’t let him speak, “you’re right, I do have issues. I’ve lost too many people I care about to let the others drift away from me like strangers. I’m tired of you moping in your corner, Kon, get over it.”

“Get ov - _Moping_?” Kon repeated in disbelief, “Is that what you think this is? I broke your arm, nearly _killed_ you, Tim! Cassie was on bed rest for weeks, _Cassie_! Or are you forgetting that Luthor owns half of me? That I can’t even control my own body? I’m more of a danger than an ally, Tim, you _know_ it. I’m not a hero, I’m a villain. It’s in my blood. I can’t just, _get over it_.”

“But you broke through the control,” Tim reminded Kon - Conner, he was _Conner_ \- with a shrug.

“I might not next time.”

“So is that the problem? You think you’re going to snap and break my arm again?”

“I might.”

“Then do it.”

Conner blinked, “What?”

“Do it. Break my arm. Try to scratch me even. I dare you.”

“I'm not going to hurt you.” Conner frowned. Had his friend gone off the deep end?

Tim only raised an eyebrow and shifted his weight. He took a fighting stance and tilted his head, “That’s not what you just said. Come at me.”

“Uhm… No.”

“See? Won’t harm a fly.”

Conner let out an exasperated sigh. He rose from his bed and walked towards the door where Tim was holding his ground, “Look, Tim, I appreciate you coming but I’m not sure you’re in the right mindset to - _Fu_ -” 

He’d barely grazed Tim’s shoulder that he’d found his feet swept from under him suddenly. For a few second, the room around him scrambled itself and before he knew it, he was staring at his ceiling. He hadn’t even seen Tim move.

Confused, Conner just raised his head to see Tim looming over him without a slight change in his expression.

“I dare you,” the smaller boy repeated.

Conner pulled himself up and assessed the Tim in front of him. He wasn’t kidding. He knew he wasn’t kidding. What was he trying to do? Get himself beat up? Was that a normal stage of grief? Tim wasn’t an idiot, he knew humans couldn’t beat half-kryptonians.

“Get out of the door, Tim,” Conner told him instead, not even bothered to hide how weirded out he was.

And Tim did, only he didn't step aside like any other normal human would. No, he took a step towards Kon, and with speed no human should have, crouched down, swivelled around and landed a hard kick in Conner’s stomach -

**CRASH!**

\- one that sent him flying through his window, shards of glass following him through his descent. The kick had knocked all the air in Conner's lungs, and it had honest to God _hurt_.

“Leave. Me. _Alone_!” Conner roared mid air as he put a stop to his momentum to charge back into his room and take down Tim.

He didn’t have to, the archer had jumped right after him.

Just as Conner was about to land a punch to his face, Tim caught his arm instead, and used it to arch over the clone’s head, twisting his arm in the process and landing a kick to his spine in the landing.

Conner let out a shout.

**BAM!**

They both hit the ground violently, a cloud of dust and dirt erupting around them, but Tim had used Kon’s body to cushion his fall.

“Arm _still_ not broken,” Tim taunted him, “Come one, Kon, this can’t be all you have.”

Conner attempted to roll over to throw Tim sideways, but the boy jumped on time, as if he had anticipated it. Half sitting, the clone threw a punch - but it was too emotional, too unstable and not thought through enough. At best, it looked like a drunk’s struggle, which Tim had no trouble dodging.

With a growl, Kon pulled himself up and tackled Tim, who just threw him over his head like he was a potato sack. There wasn’t a bead of sweat on Tim, and his face remained in a cold mix of calm and focus.

“Get up, Kon,” Tim said monotonously, “Land a hit.”

And Conner wanted nothing more. But his muscles were burning and his sight was slightly blurry. He was out of breath. He didn’t even have the strength to get up again. Why wouldn’t Tim stop moving? Why was he fighting so dirty? Tim only hit because he’d taken Kon by surprise - he’d only - Oh God, Conner was losing this fight for real, wasn’t he?

He was losing to Tim. Tim the guy with a bow and arrow, who didn’t even have a bow and arrow at the moment.

A weight suddenly fell on his chest, and there was Tim, perched on him with a blank expression. Kon tried one last desperate swipe at the bird, but his friend just rolled on his heels, digging them further into Kon’s ribs, _the bastard_ , and rolled back in his original position.

“It's kryptonite, Kon,” Tim explained, lifting his sleeve and dangling a green bracelet in front of Conner’s face, “Not pure green, since I had to synthesise it from another form, but enough to strip you of your powers.”

“Ugh, no fair,” Conner complained, wincing at the sight of the stone.

“You have super strength, you use it,” Tim shrugged, “I have kryptonite, I use it. Just because I actually had to earn mine doesn’t make it less valid. So, how is that punch coming? You can always try to take me down in hand to hand combat but I should warn you, I’ve fought ten year olds with more battle experience than you”

Against himself, Conner snorted. 

“I'm not kidding.”

And judging by his face, he really wasn’t.

“Uncle,” Conner finally surrendered.

Tim smiled and got up, offering his hand to Conner after stashing the bracelet into a lead lined pocket.

“Good,” he said, hauling his friend up, “that’s settled it. Now, if you don’t want to be Superboy, fine. But don’t use me as an excuse. Don’t use Cassie. And don’t use your genetic make up. There are people out there with the shittiest parents you can imagine - cold hearted assassins, criminal masterminds, people who sell their own children to prostitution - and who rose up to be some of the most admirable heroes I’ve ever met. Just like some of the greatest give birth to monsters of the most hateful kind. I mean, look at _Raven_ or, or _Starfire_. Do _they_ bitch about their parents? Yes, but they don’t hide behind them.”

“But -”

“- Moreover, under the right circumstances and against the right criminal, any one of us can be mind controlled,” Tim continued, “and don’t be so arrogant as to think you'd be the worst. You’ve seen I can take you down, and I’ll do it again if need be. But know that I trust I won’t have to, because if you’ve already broken out of it once, there’s no reason you wouldn’t be able to do it again.”

“Tim -“

“And if guilt really was eating you up so much,” Tim cut in once more, “then you’d dedicate your life to protect the people you hurt instead of allowing that mistake to weigh on them for the rest of their lives. Running from it won’t accomplish anything.”

“I -“

“Everything's on the table now, Conner,” Tim finished, “I want you to come back because you’re my friend and I miss the good old days. What’s your excuse for refusing?”

Conner was stumped. He couldn’t find words. Not just because Tim had repeatedly insulted him and destroyed all the excuses he’d ben telling himself these past two years with terrifying accuracy but because - No. No, that was it. Tim had covered all his bases and revealed all of Conner’s cards before Conner had had even the chance to make a move. The guy should have been a lawyer, not an archer running around in tights and putting holes into petty thieves.

“Oh crap,” Tim suddenly grimaced, looking at his phone, “I have to go before someone notices the Super-Cycle’s out. Look, you don’t have to give me an answer straight away. Just know you’re welcome at YJ anytime. Oh - and don’t worry about the window, I’ll get it fixed.”

And just like that, Tim left Conner between the house and the cornfield. For a moment, Conner just stood there, looking blankly at the pieces of broken glass around him. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the window of his room the same way one looked at a burned out lightbulb for a while before hunting for a new one.

Tim had stayed a grand total of ten minutes. Ten. Minutes.

“Conner?” Ma asked as she came out of the house and gasped at the damage, “Conner! What happened?”

“Nothing, Ma,” Conner smiled, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Did Tim do that? What on Earth did he want?” she asked, assessing the scene. There was a Superboy shaped dent on the soil.

“To bring my feet back on the ground, apparently,” Conner grimaced, “It's fine, Ma. I swear.”

“Mmh,” Ma harrumphed unconvinced, “Clark never lied to me either,” she said with heavy sarcasm,  "Keep your secrets, boy, but go finish your homework.”

Conner rolled his eyes, “Yes, Ma.”

Homework was the last thing on his mind though.

* * *

_‘Everything ok. Plan starting in two days.’ - LL_

“Representative?" Selina practically purred, “Is something wrong?”

Bruce smiled, even though his mask wouldn’t let any emotion through. He pocketed his phone, committing Lex Luthor’s ominous message to memory, “Just my associate reporting the state of our affairs.”

“And?”

“No reason for concern.”

“Great,” Falcone grumbled, “May we go back to _our_ meeting, then?”

On any other day, Bruce would have flipped the table and taken on every single crook around him. The lords of the Gotham underground were all present, or at least the lords of this Gotham’s underground. Falcone, the Black Mask, the Red Hood, Catwoman, Penguin, Elliot, and a highly ranked member of the Court of Owls, Bruce Wayne himself.

However, after his initial… freak out, Bruce had managed to make sense of his counterpart’s life. He'd found his phone in the car, his address in the phone, and an excellent connection to the internet in his penthouse. What he found on the internet, he didn't like. He did have to play along though, and it was eating him up inside.

Yes, he was a master criminal. In this alternate universe, Bruce Wayne had never lost his parents and had grown spoiled and arrogant. He was an excellent businessman though, and had stolen his parents’ company from right under their nose and completely renounced them. Of course, like every respectable businessmen in Gotham, Bruce Wayne had his fingers poking in every kind of crime possible and imaginable. He was the Lex Luthor of Gotham - a man with whom he seemed to share a deep friendship on top of everything.

“Of course,” Bruce nodded, “Does anyone have any pressing matters?”

And that was why he was sitting at a conference table set at the docks with people he was used to beating the hell out.

It wasn’t even some huge secret that Bruce was part of the Court of the Owls. Everyone with half a brain knew it, even though no one ever said anything. No one _could_ say anything. There was no evidence against him, and even in this world he owned most of Gotham.

But here, the Manor - and by extension, the cave - wasn’t his. Here, he didn’t even have _Alfred_ , and that made him the poorest man on Earth. Here he was _alone_.

The Red Hood - whoever he was under that ridiculous finger shaped mask - cleared his throat.

“We do have an emergency,” he admitted, “the hostages broke out.”

Falcone and Penguin let out indignant noise.

Selina was a true artist when it came to keeping a poker face, but Bruce saw a wave of real panic wash over her face. She had immediately stopped caressing the top of her wine glass and crisped her fingers in a claw. “How's that possible?” she asked tensely, “Who got them out?”

“No one,” the Red Hood told them seriously, “they broke out on their own as far as we can tell. Even took out two guards. My men have been following them but they’re incredibly good at hiding.”

“How is that even possible?” Penguin clicked his tongue, “they were all children, weren’t they?”

“That’s what happens when you let good old Hood do the hostage keeping,” Black Mask slurred, completely drunk. A few present wrinkled their noses at his behaviour. He reeked of alcohol, but clearly that was nothing new.

“Could you at least _try_ to be sober at meetings?” The Red Hood asked scornfully.

“Could you at least _try_ to keep the hostages hostage?” Black Mask replied mockingly.

“Children,” Selina chided, “Focus. These hostages concern all of us. They speak, we all have a lot to lose.”

The tension hadn’t left her.

“Give your men the order to kill on sight,” Elliot decided, “And do not let them approach anyone. We might still be able to pretend they’re alive as long as no one’s seen them.”

Bruce gritted his teeth. This wasn’t his world - he shouldn’t get involved. He had to focus on getting home, to focus on finding out how and why he was brought here. He had to find others like him if they existed, whether he knew them personally or not. This Black Mask wasn’t Roman Sionis, this Red Hood wasn’t Jason, and this Catwoman didn’t have his Selina’s heart. They weren’t his. None of this was -

“We could always get a new round of hostages,” Penguin suggested, “I’m sure you even already have a list, Falcone.”

“That,” Falcone replied, “should be left as last resort. If the police gets wind that we’ve lost the leverage…”

He couldn’t just _not_ do anything though. The way they were talking about _children_ as mere means to an end - it was disgusting. 

But he had to keep appearances. He didn’t have enough resources or enough knowledge in this world to improvise too much. He needed to plan carefully every step of his way. Besides, if he was going to act as Batman, Luthor’s message told of a much bigger problem. What exactly was going to happen two days from now? And how in the name of the six Hells was Bruce involved in it? And -

Hostages. _Children_ hostages. Scared. In the streets. Hunted. _Alone_.

Fine. There was nothing he could do about Luthor anyway. Even with his arsenal back home he couldn’t touch the man. The children came first. He had to find them before all the others at this table and that meant doing a bit of detective work.

“We need to find out how they escaped first,” he said, “there’s no point in filling an aquarium with a hole, no matter with what fish.”

“You think it isn’t the first thing we did?” The Red Hood snarled, “We’re not stupid. They didn’t leave any trace behind.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow behind his mask. No one else could see it, but by now, he was a good enough actor to convey it through his body language and tone. He’d manage to pass his disappointment and anger through a cowl, surely he could do it through an owl mask.

“Let me see the cell,” he said.

The Red Hood sighed and accepted the request, promising to bring him there after the meeting. The circle of criminal then discussed hunting strategies before moving on to more trivial matters. Territory disputes, drug prices, information on new cops and how likely they could be bought… Bruce had participated to a few meetings like these in the past as Matches Malone, but sitting amongst all the big names so casually was new. He had never realised how tight they were, and it was going to be the first thing he’d investigate once he made it back.

If he made it back.

… _Should_ he make it back though?

Bruce didn’t know if this world was real, but there were a few things he did know. He knew his parents were alive here. He knew that the Graysons were still happily performing as a family, that Cassandra was a hero in the spotlight and that Barbara had two functional legs. Gotham was still protected by a vigilante and his two sidekicks, and the Joker didn’t even exist.

What if… What if the world had been better off without Batman?

What if everything had just been a juvenile adventure from the start? He’d found a cave and let himself be swept away by the thrill of exploration, without stopping to look at the bats.

A loud explosion outside caught his attention.

Selina sighed.

“Looks like the soldiers are here,” Falcone grumbled.

“Time to pack,” Penguin agreed, as everyone rose from their seats.

They were calm as they slowly filled out of the area. The meeting table had been put in the open air, in a maze of containers, and Bruce knew it was to taunt the vigilantes. Other than Black Mask swaying his way out, everyone else was clearly unperturbed by the disturbance. With a snap of their fingers, they mechanically gathered their men and made for their respective cars.

The Red Hood motioned for Bruce to follow him, and so he did. The Bruce Wayne of this world had bodyguards, but he never brought them along for… business. It was the one, _and only_ , thing they had in common - they didn’t like the thought of someone knowing where they were and what they did on a daily basis.

As the car drove away, Bruce spotted the vigilantes in the rear mirror. They were fighting the army of henchmen left behind to hold them back.

He’d already met the main one, on the night he’d arrived in this new Gotham. If the black military gear hadn’t been a straight give away, the fighting style probably would have. It wasn’t the mix of ninjutsu and martial arts the bats were used to; it was less agile but with a stronger foundation. They held their ground rather than taking the sky. They hit less, but they hit _hard,_ and they shot bullets instead of knives. They wore black, and yet red suited them just as much.

And they’d always watch over Thomas and Martha Wayne, because they were family.

Bruce looked away from the Kanes. This Gotham didn’t need him, they were doing a fine job holding it up all on their own.

Bruce and the Red Hood made it to the cell without further problems, although Bruce had been tempted multiple times to sabotage the car so the Kanes could have caught up. however, Bruce had been Batman for over twenty years, and he knew very well that undercover work meant turning a blind eye to some criminals. Besides, he had to find those children.

From what he'd understood, the hostages were all children of policemen. They were leverage to get a good portion of the police force working directly for the criminal underground, and the only reason why the police couldn’t even try and fight back was that the hostage situation was born from a coalition of all the greatest criminals of Gotham, and that there was no punching crime itself. Of course, Bruce suspected all his colleagues still had their own men working in the GCPD through some other forms of blackmail - but this safety net was very beneficial to illegal activities still.

The policemen whose children had been taken over a month ago couldn’t speak for fear of their lives, and the others who had somehow stumbled over the plot couldn’t for fear their own were next. It was a clever plan. Cold, but clever.

The Red Hood had kept the hostages in a real fort - the basement of some dusty house in the Narrows. The children - there had been about twenty of them - had been chained directly to the wall, hands and feet, with only enough leeway to awkwardly hold a spoon and bring it to their mouths.

It was deplorable really, the state of the cells.

Bruce pushed his outrage aside. He looked at the chains. They hadn’t been broken or even scratched but opened with a key or a lock-pick, all but one.

The detective crouched down to see the pair of handcuffs attached to the chains. There was dried blood spread on the inside of the cuffs - deliberately. The pattern wasn’t natural enough to have simply been the result of a struggle.

“Were the children hurt?” Bruce asked the Red Hood, carefully controlling the disgust in his voice.

The criminal shook his head, “No. There is a thin line between fear and revenge and I didn’t want to risk it. All the children were tranquillised to be brought here; they shouldn’t have been hurt apart from a bump or two.”

This particular kid had injured themselves on purpose to lubricate their chains. It wouldn’t have been enough, but if they had dislocated their thumb as well, then it was an easy escape. This wasn’t something a normal person could come up on the spot though, and certainly not a child. No, this person had had the knowledge from the start, the training. So why wait a month to escape? What had changed?

* * *

A mail alert caught Damian’s attention. His family was a criminal organisation, so naturally they had to keep a fairly decent information network. It was part of the basics to keep an ear out for sensitive subjects and the Al Ghuls had quite a few keywords they followed with meticulous obsession. One of these key words seemed to have dug out a new rumour, and Damian was there to read it first.

‘Lazarus Pit’ was the keyword. His Grandfather was so possessive over that green pool that it was almost pitiful.

‘Superboy's cloning technologies were stolen from the League of Assassins,’ the mail said, 'his rampage two years ago was a side effect of the Lazarus solution. Luthor is planing to reintegrate Superboy in Young Justice to get the team to attack the LoA and obtain more solution.’

That was certainly the kind of rumour that would send his grandfather in a fit of rage, Damian mused. Ra’s didn’t deal well with people using his toys, and the Pit and his cloning science were his toys.

From the knowledge Damian had of his world’s Superboy, it was highly unlikely the rumour was true. Drake had studied Luthor’s cloning machines through and through, and he’d have noticed if the League had been involved, willingly or unwillingly. Damian Al Ghul, son of Talia Al Ghul and Bane (the thought still sent a chill sown his spine), wasn’t supposed to have that information though. Nonetheless, it was best to disprove the rumour somehow, or to ensure it wouldn’t reach his grandfather’s ears.

An all out war involving the League was going to be the pain. As the Heir, Damian would definitely be involved and expected to be part of the main force. It would eat his time and-

Huh.

Damian read and reread the name of the source.

BatBirdIII.

It was so obviously Drake it wasn’t even funny. What was Drake doing goading the League of Assassins into attacking his own team? Granted, the madman had also set Bizarro on them, but that had only been to draw out the Justice Lea - oh. Of course.

Drake was drawing _him_ out. Damian himself absolutely hated being called the fifth Robin; it implied he was just another copy of the original. But if someone talked about the fifth Robin, Damian knew without doubt it was him, as anyone else who knew about Bat-History would. The username BatBirdIII wasn’t sentimental; it was an _identification number_ , because there wasn’t a _chance_ someone other than Drake was behind it. Batman didn’t exist in this world, and the association of bats and robins even less. The roman numeral was just clarification for those who’d get the reference. Drake had wanted Damian to know he was calling him out; had he come to the same conclusion? Drake was the _detective_ Robin. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch.

So it was all part of a plan, again.

Damian was torn. The Al Ghul side of him was absolutely outraged Drake would dare use the League of Assassins just to set up a meeting. The Wayne side of him (and he _was_ a Wayne, no matter what the dirty blood that crawled in the veins of this body screamed) was begrudgingly impressed with Drake’s understanding of Ra’s possessiveness. It wasn’t like there was another, subtler way of meeting. Damian was being surveilled twenty-four seven and last he’d heard, Young Justice was also being closely watched by their mentors.

Besides, it had been weeks since Damian had seen a bat. Back in his world, there was _always_ a bat flying over his head when he fought. A bat made out of light, shadows and clouds, a bat printed across an armour padded chest, a big, red, monster of a bat carrying him in his paws… Sometimes it was even his own cape - the teeth of its hem painting the symbol in the skies of Gotham, sculpting it in the darkness of alleys. It was the bat that gave meaning to the ‘R' on his uniform… but neither meant anything in this world. Here, Talia let bats fly past her head without sparing them a thought - and that was the biggest insult Damian had ever received from his mother.

But there the word Bat was, and it wasn’t just some reference to baseball or to vampires. This was _his_ Bat, _their_ Bat. It was proof that he wasn’t flying alone in this disgustingly twisted world.

Very well then. He’d play along. And no, that wasn’t a tear rolling down his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are like so nice it should be a crime. Your comments give me life.
> 
> Next up: in a shocking plot twist, Damian AGREES with Tim: the older boy is so going to hell for this plan. Also, the story finally gets rolling and Bruce is in deep, deep crap.


	5. The Odd Ones Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Damian finally get to compare notes and form some kind of partnership - only, things do not go smoothly when they can't even trust each other. However, things go from weird to urgent when Young Justice receives devastating news, and a Bat-signal is lit.

“I believe this plan is your one way ticket to Hell,” Damian said, both peeved and morbidly fascinated by the show in front of him. Had he not been Damian and Drake not Drake, he would have certainly been expected to whistle in appreciation of Drake's genius. But he was Damian, unfortunately. And Damian only saw dirt where Drake was.

The two boys had a moment of silence as they watched the chaos from the top of a distant building, the only light on the faces coming from the beams and fires of the fight.

The Young Justice mansion was nothing but a war-zone. Bizarro’s rampage in the warehouse had been one thing - but this was on a whole new level. This was chaos, pure madness. On a normal day, the mansion would have appeared minuscule from where they were standing, almost impossible to see at night. And yet there they it was, lit up like a Christmas Tree. A very violent Christmas tree with explosives under it instead of gifts, but a bright one nonetheless. If he strained his ears, Damian could almost hear the cries of his allies and enemies.

They were a small forest away and a twenty story building higher.

Drake grimaced, “Definitely.” 

* * *

The plan hadn’t started with that much action of course. It had started with Damian alerting his mother and grandfather of the rumour Drake had spread over mercenary networks. Ra’s had dismissed it at first, barely narrowing his eyes at the thought.

Only, over the next few days, more proof popped up. There were very convincing descriptions of Ra’s machines from BatBirdIII who claimed to have seen them at Lexcorp. There was a chemical analysis of water from the Lazarus Pit. There was a map with some League of Assassin secret hideouts highlighted.

All of it was information Drake had no doubt remembered from their world. With the number of confrontations between Damian’s father and Ra’s, it was expected of a Robin to know at least as much. But here, Ra’s didn’t have a rival, much less one who knew such protected secrets. 

And then Superboy, the traumatised teen superhero who wanted nothing to do with capes and costumes anymore, had returned to Young Justice. That part had unsettled more than just the Head of the Demon. Getting Superboy back was like persuading his father (his _real_ father — not the disgusting piece of —) to get over his hatred for guns.

Outside the family, people didn’t realise how different bats were from each other. According to them, they were all great strategists, and hence often made good leaders, since they made the 'right' choices. Only, there weren’t right or wrong choices in battle strategy. They were choices, their risks, and their consequences. Grayson was a quick thinker. He planned little but left a lot of room for improvisation. Brown was creative. She turned her surroundings into whatever she needed at the moment. Todd was methodological. Anything unnecessary was blown up and every step of the plan was determined through a systematic algorithm in his head. Gordon was a perfectionist. She knew everything before the execution, everything that was happening during, and all the loose ends she had to tie afterwards. His father was experienced. He had encountered or theorised every scenario before they even happened, even the most farfetched ones. Cain was reactive. She waited for her opponent to make the first move and followed accordingly.

Drake? Drake was completely insane, that’s what he was. They probably all had one domain where they were considered out of their mind by their peers (Nightwing didn’t even cary a grapple gun every night - he thought falling from skyscrapers was more fun without), and Drake’s was strategy. The teenager had a propulsion for playing with fire, and because he was so good at it, he couldn’t settle for a lighter’s flame. No, Drake played with bloody _Solar storms_. Drake was the first to team up with people he didn’t trust, because he double crossed them before _they_ could double cross _him_. Drake was the first to manipulate organisations and nations way over his head, because by the time they’d realise they’d been played, he’d already have a plan to cover his back. Drake made plans that could topple the world if they ever went sideways - but they never did. And Damian dreaded to think what would happen if it was all just luck. (He knew it wasn’t though, and still he felt like he was watching a three year old trying a somersault for the first time.)

Even his father, the Batman, was often uncomfortable with the liberties Drake took to get the result he wanted. Red Robin toed the line of morality in ways the Red Hood could never replicate. Whereas Todd clearly just jumped from white to black to white again, Tim remained in a state of grey. There was no explaining what was wrong with what he was doing, but there was no denying that it wasn't right either.

And here once again, Drake was manipulating the dynamics of a world they had no right to intervene in. He was transforming Young Justice into his version of the Teen Titans. The consequences of Drake's plans were going to linger after they left this world, and Drake wasn't the one who would deal with those. 

But Drake got results, and that’s what mattered.

Besides, it did cement the rumour’s validity in Ra’s head. Damian was almost bored when the man declared war on YJ, the only thing keeping him straight being his mother’s hand resting on his shoulder, and partway around his neck. 

The plan was to reclaim Superboy, as he was rightfully theirs. They couldn’t go straight to Luthor since the man was practically untouchable, even for them. So instead they settled for YJ, which was much easier to conquer.

And so, that very night, Damian found himself in the midst of one of the most chaotic battles he’d ever seen. The League had tripped alarm sensors that Red Speedy had conveniently just installed and all pretence of stealth had immediately flown out the window. Ra’s, Talia and Bane hadn’t come themselves, obviously. They’d deemed their ninja skilful enough to take out Young Justice, especially after the trap Damian had laid two weeks back had proved _his_ skill.

The two groups had clashed. A few days ago, they would have been unevenly matched, with the advantage in the League’s pocket. However, the addition of Superboy had a heavier impact on the team than they’d originally predicted. His sheer brute strength was a challenge on its own, but assisted by Wonder Girl's fighting prowess, Secret’s trickery, Kid Flash’s speed, and Zachary Zatara’s conjurations, he was practically invincible. Even a shard of kryptonite helped little, as Kid Flash had quickly trapped it into lead.

It had taken no time for the clone to adapt back to this kind of life.

Now, Damian was hardly the emotional relationship expert, but he too had people he was… attached to. And as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t imagine himself doing what Drake had done to the clone to Grayson or even Brown. Drake was _using_ Superboy — taking advantage of their friendship to lure him in the role of bait. Superboy was a side note at best.

He couldn’t fathom why his father distrusted _him_ when Drake was capable of such coldness. Then again, he’d heard Brown complain about his father’s manipulative tendencies as well. Was Drake’s approach commendable? Damian just couldn’t understand. Grayson insisted Damian had to be nicer and more considerate, so what was the truth? Perhaps Drake was more suited to be Batman’s succe — no. Bad thought.

Red Speedy was the only original member who wasn’t participating in the well oiled machine. Along with Impulse and Blue Beetle, he took care of the stray ninjas. He was taking advantage of the chaos to shoot arrows a bit everywhere, proof that he was present and fighting during the confrontation. Had anyone been looking more attentively, they’d have noticed his aim was lazy at best.

It was only when an arrow whizzed past Damian’s head that the child had realised how it would play out. He’d follow the arrow’s path with his eyes, to see a small scribbled bat on the wall next to where it had landed. Next to a window.

Pretending to dodge a blow, Damian jumped towards that window, and found himself engaged in battle by Red Speedy on the way there. They both crashed into the glass, falling outside the mansion.

“Time to vanish,” Drake whispered. Damian immediately noticed what was waiting for them on the ground: some kind if vehicle he had never seen before, but which reminded him of a dog for some reason. The vehicle took off the second they landed on it, and the air in his hair felt all kinds of liberating. It was like he could breathe again; just him and Drake and the night, far from the Al Ghuls.

And that was how they had found themselves on a roof far away from the fray only minutes later, looking at the disaster with strange detachment.

“Robin,” Drake greeted, still on his guard. The name flooded Damian with pride, and he hung to every syllable like a parched beggar receiving raindrops in a dry desert.

“Red Robin,” Damian reciprocated with a nod.

The two Robins relaxed their stance.

“Do you know anything about our situation?” Drake asked, straight to business. They only had to modes of interaction: on the job or pistols at dawn, and it wasn’t the time to murder each other just yet.

“I woke up here a a month ago,” Damian informed him, “I don’t have much freedom in the League.”

Drake nodded, having expected the answer, “You've been here two weeks longer than me,” he informed him, “have you found anyone else?”

“No, have you?”

“No,” Drake sighed, “we need an easier way to communicate from now on. Take these. Use the fourth frequency. The password is Damian Wayne.”

Damian caught the items Drake had thrown. It was a discreet communication earpiece and a small phone. And then it registered. Damian Wayne. It was a good password; no one would ever think of that combination in this world, which was all the more bitter for the child assassin. But it was also proof of who he was, and for that, he was grateful.

“I have something for you as well,” Damian said, trying not to be ticked off by the surprised look on Drake’s face as he threw him a bag, “Leviathan's notes on your teammates, a few shuriken, and a League quality retractable bo staff. It is painful to watch you fight with that bow.”

“Er…” Drake raised an eyebrow, “thank you?”

They both shuddered at the peaceful exchange.

“Speaking of which,” Drake remembered, “that warehouse plan, that was you?”

“And Bizarro was you,” Damian confirmed, “a plan that benefitted both of us. Mother was most impressed with my attempt and no one died.”

“It turned out well,” Drake agreed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “but your trap was made to _kill_.”

Damian opened his mouth to reply, until he understood what Drake was implying. And then suddenly, he didn’t feel like being civil anymore. He had hoped — after three weeks of isolation, he had thought he had finally found someone — but no. Drake was no friend of his. He was no family, clearly.

“Is that all you think of me?” Damian growled, anger welling up in his chest, “after everything I’ve done — after everything I’ve _sacrificed_ — You have _no idea_ what I‘ve been through these past —”

 “Damian,” Drake interrupted, “we don’t know each other. We’re brothers by law but we’ve never spent an hour with each other without it ending up violently. Considering your past, I‘d say it’s pretty justified.”

Damian grit his teeth, ignoring the way he suddenly wanted to breath harder, the way he suddenly wanted to scream and trash.

“I do not need to justify myself to you,” he declared, walking towards the edge of the building, “think what you want. We’ll be in touch.”

He jumped.

* * *

Bruce had always said not to trust the unknown, and that was exactly what Tim had done in regards do Damian. So why was he feeling guilty? Damian had tried to blow him up with the decapitated head of a criminal — Tim had every right _not_ to trust the brat! And yeah, Dick had said that Damian had changed, but when had he ever shown Tim anything else than disdain? There were only so many adoption jabs that Tim could take.

Plus, he was in the right. Damian had been raised an assassin, hadn’t he? Sure the brat had had the last word of the argument, but Tim had won, right? 

The emptiness he was feeling up on the roof alone didn’t feel much like victory.

Tim took the notebook from the satchel Damian had handed him. It was small, covered in leather made from skin that Tim was probably better off not knowing. Inside, Leviathan had very detailed notes on every YJ member’s weaknesses, personality and habits. Creepily detailed notes. Even Bruce wasn’t that anal.

As he flipped through the pages, he noticed some weaknesses were highlighted; it was the weaknesses he’d exploited for his elaborate trap. And on the last page used, a few sketches of the plan. There was something curious about the floor plan of the warehouse. Damian had highlighted a few points of vantage all the traps had to be within a certain diameter of. There was no need in keeping them so close together though, Tim thought. And then he noticed the notes between the point and the traps: the time it took to reach them from each point was jolted down, as well as the time for the final step of the traps to activate.

The two times were close. Very close.

A note at the bottom of the page : _Red Speedy, as smart? Wonder Girl, good leader?_

Tim suddenly felt very sick.

_Christ_ , Damian had been planing on throwing himself in the way if YJ hadn't outsmarted him. He’d been planing on letting YJ kill him rather than let his own plan succeed. He’d been gambling on Cassie or Tim realising it had been trap - putting his own life in the hands of variables he couldn’t remotely control. What kind of desperation —

Tim had been so _stupid_. He’d deduced that the League of Assassin was forcing his hand. He'd deduced that Damian had been asked to kill. He’d deduced that Damian was under some kind of threat or blackmail. So why hadn’t he, for a second, thought of how _fucked up_ Damian’s situation was in this world? The kid wasn’t suicidal; but he’d still found himself in a situation where the only solution he’d found was _die_?

Damian was what? Ten? _Eleven_? What the actual fuck?

There had been _tears_ in his eyes when he’d jumped.

God, Tim was such an _asshole._ He’d been so lucky, ending up with the Arrows.

Beating himself had to wait though, Tim decided, biting back more self-depreciating comments in his head, he had to get back to the mansion before all the fires were put out. Otherwise, he’d have to explain his absence.

Tim jumped back into the Super Cycle and made for the mansion. He stashed the satchel in a tree once he had landed and created a few fake injuries - scratches, bruises, nothing too serious - to be more convincing before sneaking back into the house, where the action had dimmed due to fatigue, but not come to a complete stop.

Young Justice had stood its ground better than Tim had anticipated. It helped that Superboy was a force to be reckoned with and that he’d immediately clicked back with Cassie, Bart and Zach. Their teamwork was excellent, much better than it had been at the warehouse.

Tim shot a few arrows here and there as the last members of the League of Assassins retreated. Tim had sent proof denying the rumours he’d started while he’d been chatting with Damian to ensure the League wouldn’t go as far as to kill his friends. Ra’s was an assassin, but he had a code of honour he respected strongly. In this case, he’d been in the wrong, and Tim knew he’d recognise that.

“Holy shit,” Cassie breathed as the last of Ra’s ninja left the scene, “we did it.”

The mansion was in ruins, and everyone was either lying down or sitting, trying to catch a breath.

“Yeah,” Greta grinned, “we did. If only Cat Girl had been here to see.”

“Where _is_ Cat Girl?” Tim asked.

Greta shrugged, “You know her, always the mysterious one. Should we help Jaime?”

They all turned to where the Blue Beetle was arguing with himself, trying to persuade his spine not to turn what little was left of the mansion to ashes.

“Nah.”

“Holy shit,” Cassie repeated, still in disbelief over what had happened, “we did it.”

“Deep breath Cassie,” Bart teased, “you look like you just met your favourite idol.”

“So, back for good?” Zach asked Kon, who looked rejuvenated compared to how morose he’d been at the farm.

The rest of the team had been surprised when he’d pop out a day before the attack, but no one, not even Zach, had shown any reluctance in brining him back. 

“Yeah, I —“ Kon started, melting into a smile, “Yeah. I hadn’t realised how much I missed this.”

“And my arm is _still_ not broken,” Tim smirked, elbowing his friend.

Kon gave him an unamused look, but a smile was pulling at his mouth. This wasn’t his Kon, but to be honest, seeing how miserable he’d been on the farm had affected Tim more than he’d like to admit. And maybe Tim couldn’t exactly separate the two completely. It didn’t matter which world he was in, Kon, Cassie and Bart were his best friends and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to be there for them.

You know, once he actually stopped putting dangerous creatures and international crime syndicates on their tail.

“Are _you_ alright?” Kon frowned.

Tim shrugged, and said “You know that feeling when a ten year old’s trying to get a rise out of you, and you let it happen, and the next thing you know he’s crying and it’s all your fault?”

“Yeah?”

“Kinda feeling like that right now.”

“Did you steal Impulse’s lasagna ag —”

“Connor!” Cassie squealed.

“What?” Kon replied, turning around.

Greta giggled, “not you, hotshot.”

And then Tim turned around, and was met with the sight of Cassie making out with Connor Hawke. Connor _Hawke_. He sighed. Well if Queen could score Diana, why not? Hell, he was called Red _Speedy_. Nothing this world could throw was going to surprise him anymore. Where did Connor Hawke even come from?

“What happened here?” Connor frowned as he freed himself from Wonder Girl, looking around at the disaster, “and why are you so happy?”

“Wefoughttheleagueofassassinsandwonanditwassobadassandbytheendofittheywererunscaredlikecowardsandwetotallyownedthis!” Impulse rushed, popping out from the overexcited runs she had been doing around the house to spend her excitement.

“I only caught three words and it was League of Assassins,” Connor replied, his voice turning steely cold, “what the _hell_ happened here?”

“League of Assassins just attacked,” Tim replied, “we're not sure why. But we won… Is everything alright? You look tense, and your eyes are red.”

“I…” Connor started, before deflating and slumping on a charcoaled… something. He ran a hand through his hand tiredly, and explained, “I came here to bring you the news. It’s the JSA.”

“What did Booster Gold do _this time_?” Zach muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“They're dead.”

“Oh,” Zach caught himself, his expression slowly turning to horror, like everyone else’s.

“What do you mean, _dead_?” Bart asked, worryingly still.

“There was an attack, a coordinated attack and—” Connor’s voice caught, “Black Canary and Booster Gold are the only survivors, but they’re both in the hospital with grave injuries. It happened earlier and…”

“What about Zatanna?” Zach asked, “What happened to Zatanna?”

“Zach,” Connor bit his lips, “I am _so_ sorry.”

“ _No!_ ” Zach screamed, charging towards Connor. Tim and Kon stopped him, holding him back by the arms, “She can’t! She’s not — Annataz emoc ereh! Evil annataz!”

“Zach,” Greta sighed sadly, tears in her eyes, “ _please_.”

And for the first time since he came to this strange world, Tim didn’t feel like the misplaced victim. He didn’t want to go home because he was scared, or because he wanted his family back. He wanted to go home because he had to leave this world. He didn't belong here.

He watched Zach crumple to the ground, Kon shaking in restrained rage, Bart trying to burn the ground with his eyes, Cassie turning white as a ghost, Greta sobbing uncontrollably, Impulse completely frozen and Jaime more at peace with his scarab than he had ever seen him.

He was a stranger here, an intruder. Other Tim should have been there to share their grief — _Tim-_ Tim sympathised, but he couldn’t mourn for people he’d never met. Him being here instead of the other Tim, at that moment, was a travesty. He couldn’t even spare a tear for these heroes with names he knew so well. All this time, Tim had treated this other life as pretend, but for them, it was very much real. Tim wasn't the real Tim in this world. It was he who was the Other Tim.

God knew that if his JSA had been slaughtered, he’d be a mess.

“We _all_ had friends there,” Jaime muttered, his fists trembling, “who —“

“Bruce Wayne,” Connor revealed sombrely, and Tim’s heart skipped a beat, “it was Bruce Wayne who planned it all. The League suspects Luthor’s involvement too."

What?

“That sick son of a bitch!” Bart spat.

“He is going to pay for what he has done,” Cassie growled through her tears.

“That's the second piece of news,” Connor informed them, lifting his head, “the League’s new priority is to catch Bruce Wayne, for his trial and his execution. Every hero available is asked to participate if possible. Young Justice is off probation.”

Tim went pale. All his friends nodded.

“Tim?” Kon asked, when he noticed his friend wasn’t as eager.

Tim didn’t even have to fake the panic in his voice. “I'm sorry,” he said, “I can’t — My father just died and now -- I can’t — I can’t deal with this right now. Just — I need time.”

It looked like some of his friends wanted to hold him back, but they knew better. Tim stalked off, finding an isolated area in the forest around the mansion.

He activated his comm.

“Robin,” he called, “we have a situation.”

“I know,” Damian replied, his voice just as full of fear as his own, “find a television and turn on the news — it’s father, he just gave statement. You’re going to want to hear it.”

* * *

By the time five past midday rolled around, Bruce had isolated twelve possible hiding spots the children could have been used. It grated him that it had taken a whole two days to compile the list of areas, but this Bruce Wayne actually took care of his company, and Bruce had to maintain his cover. He was at WE from eight to five every day, filling in paperwork, attending meetings, and doing detective work in between. Besides, it wasn’t like he had a cave to loiter in.

His penthouse apartment was nauseating anyway. Bruce Wayne-bis was everything Bruce pretended to be in the face of the public. He had decorated his living space with awards and exotic items that cost just about as much as ten kids’ college fees, and even had call-book for all his conquests when he got lonely. Yes, he was a brilliant businessman, but he was also a shallow excuse of a human, and a shell of what he could be. Bruce-bis had the power and the influence to do so much in good in Gotham and —

Bruce never cared much for the rich socialites he knew who didn’t devote themselves to charity. But this was Bruce. This was _him_. And if there was one person he expected everything of, it was himself.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Come in,” Bruce allowed.

A young man - Luke Fox - popped in, “Sir, it’s the news. They’re saying you… You should watch the news, sir.”

Bruce frowned. It wasn’t like Luke Fox to look ruffled, but there he was. Nodding, he grabbed a remote from a drawer of his desk and switched on the screen in his office.

“— In front of the Star Hospital,” Linda Parker was saying, “where Black Canary and Booster Gold are currently being tended to. The former is currently in a coma, and the latter isn’t out of danger yet. The tragedy that struck not an hour ago has shaken America to its very core. Some of our greatest heroes, including the Atom, Hawkman, Zatanna, Wildcat, Jade, and sixteen year old Stargirl — heroes who have saved and inspired countless of lives - have been confirmed dead,” Linda’s voice broke, but the reporter held strong, “The JSA has been a sun to our country for decades. They’ve stood when we had all kneeled, and offered their lives for ours repeatedly. Not everyone has the heart to devote themselves to others, and perhaps it is time to stand for those who do.”

Luthor’s message replayed in Bruce’s head. Two days. Two days fell on this day.

God, _no_.

Wiping out the JSA meant having a lot of resources and a lot of brains. As far as Bruce knew, there were only two people in this world who had enough of those, and he was one of them. Taking down so many heroes at once took months of planning, it took people on the inside and - _Jesus_. He knew those people back at home. He could have prevented this. He _should_ have prevented this. There was no way an operation this big didn't leave any traces in one of its instigators' books.

“The hero community is petitioning for the right to capture and sentence Bruce Wayne, who they believe is behind this horror,” Linda continued, “No evidence of his involvement has been gathered so far, but the Justice League as well as their allies, Young Justice, Checkmate and Argus amongst others, are throwing all their resources on the case. In a few hours, the fate of Bruce Wayne will be sealed. The death penalty, is being considered.”

Bruce had gone through worse.

Oh who was he kidding? Not even Batman could fight all the other superheroes on Earth at once by his own. He could run, hide and probably survive the ordeal without rotting in prison, but he would never come out on top. God knew Bruce-bis probably deserved what was coming, but Bruce didn’t, and prison wouldn’t let him find his way back home.

Plus, he still had to find those kids before the others did.

He needed help, and he wouldn’t get it. No one would believe him if he did reveal the truth; at best they’d think he was trying to go for an insanity plea.

Bruce closed his eyes, ignoring the worried look Luke Fox was giving him. He wasn’t a man of faith — how could he when he tried to control everything around him? However, his parents were _alive_ , his whole life had been annulled, and the only thing he could count on was luck.

The dimensionally displaced man stood, and walked out the front door of his building, where he knew a crowd of reporters were waiting for him. He didn’t blink twice at the flashes going off, or at the sudden onslaught of questions. Instead, he found a mic close enough to him, and leaned into it.

“I am innocent of all accusations,” he declared truthfully, looking straight at a camera, “but I’m not a martyr. If the League insists on pursuing me, then I will _disappear_. Before doing so however, I’d like to give my reasons. The Justice League is, ironically, _blind_ to what’s currently happening. I am not the _vampiric_ monster they made me out to be, and yes, I am not a white _knight_ in shining armour either. I am only human, and that places me in between. So, no, I am not running because I’m guilty. I am _looking for the truth_ because it is my _duty_ to do so. This is me shining a light in the night sky: Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot; maybe this will prove _I’m not_. _”_

And now, it was time to vanish.

* * *

"' _— a cowardly and superstitious lot; maybe this will prove_ I’m not, _’ says billionaire Bruce Wayne in his cryptic defence —_ ”

Click.

The young man placed the remote back on the small table, careful not to move too much. His parents had fallen asleep two shows ago, and his mother’s head was resting against his shoulder. It was pretty cold in their trailer, but it certainly didn’t feel cold with them huddled together like penguins on the couch.

With the television off, the only sounds left were that of morning crickets and his father’s snores. The sun was only rising, and the open windows allowed light and the smell of caramel popcorn waft through the trailer. Things were calm. Things were peaceful. In fact, the past few weeks had been like a dream for the young man.

There was something about living in a tiny trailer, being surrounded by colours, glitter and people as outrageously ridiculous as their tricks, that was like a fairytale. It was all so simple - rehearsals, shows, and menial chores in between. There were no politics in the troupe, no strategy, no enemies. And yes, there weren’t rich, but they were happy.

The young man gently lifted his mother’s head from his shoulder and carefully pushed her to the other side of the couch, against his father. She must have found her husband just as comfortable, because she didn’t wake. The young man smiled fondly.

Silently, he rose and headed to the back of the trailer, where they kept all their clothes and props. He grabbed a grey and blue hoodie, which he threw over his black shirt, a pair of black gloves and black hiking boots which melted with his dark jeans. He stopped at the vanity and picked up the khol, smudging it all around his eyes in the shape of a mask - or a bat.

The young man then reached for the door of the trailer and opened it. He paused, looking behind him. The next step he’d take would not be one he’d come back from. Maybe, just one last time…

He planted a kiss on his father’s forehead. His mother stirred and opened an eye, still half-asleep.

“Dick?” she asked.

“Shhh,” the young man soothed, kissing her forehead as well, “go back to sleep.”

And when she snuggled closer to her husband, her eyes slept again.

“I miss you both,” he whispered, “so much."

He closed the door behind him. 

The dream was over; the signal had been lit in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doesn't the song Stole the Show by Kygo remind you of Dick? I wrote the last part of the chapter listening to it.
> 
> Next up: The JLA is torn by the moral implications of the actions they have to take, a team so full of bad history and personal issues it's bound to end in tears, blood and spectacular explosions is formed, and Tim starts to feel the burns of all the fires he's lit.


	6. Hunted and trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origins of the hunt for Bruce Wayne, the beginning of the accidental hunt for the wrong traitor, and the bloody conclusion to the hunt for the lost children hostages of Gotham. Three hunts, one big mess.

There were eight seats at the table of the Justice League, eight seats which were all currently occupied. Full attendance in itself was a rare achievement, and yet there was not a single person present who wouldn’t have traded it for eight empty seats if it meant changing the circumstances of this meeting. However, the past was the past, and no magical Dr. Fate or time travelling Rip Hunter could alter it.

Two hours prior, the Justice Society of America had been all but wiped out.

Silence weighted on the eight members and their guest. They were all in uniform and it felt like blasphemy. The Watchtower was too metallically shiny, and their armours too colourfully bright for the occasion. Nothing short of black veils and black coats should have been appropriate. However, they had made a decision when they had formed the League, and that decision meant they weren’t allowed to mourn in times of crisis.

Everyone’s eyes were red, and burning with a fire that ate at their rationality. They were hurting, and they were angry, and they were all much too emotional to be making big decisions. The wound was fresh, _too_ fresh. It was still bleeding, pouring all over their hearts and they were all trying to cover the scar when it hadn’t even began clotting.

But they had to swallow it, because they were the Justice League.

“The meeting is in order,” Vic - _Cyborg_ , declared, “thank you for attending, Superman.”

The Man of Steel nodded solemnly from behind the screen on which he was projected. In the background, black banners had been hung in his Fortress of Solitude. The grief was openly displayed on his face as well and it was almost eerie how silent his anger was.

“The JSA was the oldest team in our community,” Wonder Woman said, her voice falling into carefully controlled diplomacy. Diana was a passionate person by nature, who promoted honesty and expression. It was all she could do to appear some kind of neutral, “and certainly one of the most beloved. Everyone had friends there, lovers, brothers, sisters, parents, mentors, even rivals. The superhero community will not stay silent in face of this horror. Someone, _many_ someones, will snap. And it will be bloody. We cannot allow this to happen.”

“Allow?” Oliver scoffed, “there’s nothing we can do to stop this.”

“We have to,” The Flash replied with grim determination. They all knew that tone, that one tone they used when the world was coming to an end and though the solution was impossible, they could not afford to fail, “Authorities fear us enough without us taking the law into our own hands. This kind of thing is exactly what will set off a metahuman hunt, and divide our community between those willing to commit a massacre for revenge and those who believe revenge makes their peers into criminals. We already have our hands full with some vigilantes like the Manhunter or the Soldier. Think about the chaos this would cause.”

“Our grief cannot — _will_ not go unanswered,” Hawkgirl warned the Flash, “but it can be directed.”

“You’re suggesting a scapegoat,” the Blue Beetle realised.

“I’m suggesting we remind everyone not to act as mindless beasts,” Hawkgirl elaborated, “hired muscle is hired muscle. It’s whoever orchestrated this who is guilty. Let’s be serious, we all know it has to be Luthor or Wayne.”

“It’s Wayne.”

Everyone turned to the most elusive member of the Justice League. They were rarely at the Watchtower, and for good reason. Their added value lied almost solely in the fact that no one knew they were part of the Justice League, and it was a testament of how dire things were that they would take the risk.

“He was reading a text during the last underground meeting,” Catwoman informed them, her usual teasing demeanour replaced by business-only serious, “I couldn’t get the name of the sender, but it was about a plan meant to go off today. This is too big of a coincidence not to be correlated.”

“And you didn’t investigate it?” Green Lantern practically growled.

“I was a bit busy,” Catwoman spat back, “there is a group of children being hunted down in Gotham, and I haven’t heard from Catgirl in a week — and, and I just didn’t know, at the time, that it was going to be _this_!”

“Calm down,” the Blue Beetle ordered, sending Hal a reproachful look, “this is no time for inner-squabbling. I’m sure Selina did all she could.”

“So what exactly are you suggesting we do, Hawkgirl?” Superman asked coldly, a strong wave of disapproval rolling of his words, “Give everyone the green light to _murder_ Wayne?” 

“Where I come from,” Hawkgirl replied just as icily, “honour has greater importance than life.”

“This isn’t Thanagar,” Superman argued, “We don’t—”

“The Amazons would agree with Shiera,” Wonder Woman cut in, “that makes two of us, _at this table_. Our community is hundreds strong; Aquaman, Hawkman, Big Barda, Starfire, Ravager, Guy Gardner… I can think of many others who will not let such an insult slide. You may believe that killing is never justified, Superman, but do not speak for others, not even for humans. The death penalty is still legal in many countries after all, including this one. And if we don’t satisfy our friends, then we are facing a riot or an all out civil war. Wayne’s life is not worth the fallout.”

They couldn’t afford to disagree with Superman. With the JSA… _gone_ , the Justice League and Superman were the two biggest voices in the hero community. They were the only ones with enough power and influence to reign all the others in, and if they didn’t show a united front, then the whole community would divide.

“The general public wants to see the responsible dead just as much as we do,” Cyborg informed the table, clearly looking through social media in his head, “we have their support no matter which way we chose.”

“We're not above civilians,” Superman reminded the others, “if they can’t decide punishment on the criminals who do them harm, why should we?”

“Wayne _slaughtered_ the JSA,” Catwoman stressed, “we can’t treat him like we would any other villain who crosses our path. Half of our strength lies in us being nuclear deterrents. How will we ever be respected if we hand off Wayne’s trial to someone else? His case should be treated within the community.”

“Plus, if we can get everyone to work on the case,” the Blue Beetle added, “there's no way we won’t gather enough evidence to get him a death penalty in a normal trial. If he’s eluded us so far, it's because only two or three people have tried cornering him at once. The _law_ would give him the capital punishment, Superman, and that way we avoid more violence.”

Superman grit his teeth. He wasn’t a member of the Justice League, but they all knew that he had the final word. If Superman didn’t want something to happen, there was little anyone could do to stop him from shutting it down.

“I can’t condone this,” he admitted, “but…”

There was something undeniably wrong at the next words he spoke, because they made him too human.

“If we do start a witch hunt,” he decided, “we start a witch hunt with the approval of the US authorities. And if you do carry out an execution, you do so with the agreement of an official court of law, and I want no part in it.”

Superman was willing to turn a blind eye. They were getting old — it seemed like all their ideals were crumbling down. At the beginning of their careers, most of them would have fought the devil if it meant sticking to their values. Now, even the best of them had to concede to the twisted compromises of this world. Perhaps they were simply wiser. Perhaps they were simply tired.

“Ditto,” Oliver agreed, “Participation in the trial should be optional.”

“The authorities won’t refuse our request,” Green Lantern added with certainty, “they owe us at least that much.”

“Even the Soldier of Gotham is offering his help,” Catwoman pitched in, “and you know how _he_ is with the rest of the community. Like oil and water.”

“Then it’s decided,” Wonder Woman concluded, “I will contact the president. Your presence would be greatly appreciated, Superman.”

“Of course,” the Kryptonian accepted, “I’ll be at the White House in ten.”

The screen went black.

There was a small pause to deflate. The reprieve was brief however, and just as soon, everyone stood up to get busy. They had a word to spread after all, and a worldwide investigation to begin. Wayne had relied on their generous hearts one last time, and now he had finally gone to far. He’d found their breaking point, and he was going to pay for that with his life.

Oliver pulled himself up. He watched Diana, Hal, and Shiera with envy. The incident had awoken a burning drive in them, a strong desire to see justice. The tragedy had only made them all the more determined.

As for Oliver? Oliver was tired. He wanted nothing more than to go home, hug his sons, snuggle into Diana’s arms and sleep. He wanted to put this horrible day behind him, to spend the next few days in mourning, and to move on with his life. Part of him just wanted to hang the bow forever, because losing that many friends just wasn’t worth it.

Someone grabbed his arm.

He’d barely taken a step away from his chair when the Blue Beetle - _Ted_ , stopped him.

“Ollie,” he said, “we need to talk to you.”

The meeting had already drained Ollie of everything he had to offer. This whole day had been one, horrible rollercoaster and he really didn’t want to stay for another loop.

But Ted had a wife to go home to as well, and he was still here, along with Vic. They were the only ones left, but it was clear they had something important to discuss.

“Go ahead,” Oliver sighed, slumping back into his chair.

“Vic, Gorgon and I have been investigating the Bizarro incident,” Ted explained, “we found, well, my lovely wife found that the person who hacked into the STAR labs mainframe is the very same one who spread false rumours about Superboy on shady networks, rumours that have gotten the League of Assassins to go after him.”

“Superboy,” Oliver frowned, “Didn't he just return to Young… Oh @#$%!”

Oliver stood up abruptly, fearing for Tim, but Ted stopped him once more.

“They're handling it,” the inventor reassured him, “very well, actually, we glanced at the security cams. Sit down.”

So he did, half his mind still boiling with anxiety for his youngest protégé.

“And because of the timing…” Vic continued hesitantly.

“You think it’s related to the massacre,” Oliver concluded, feeling twenty years older, “Christ.”

“Not just,” Ted added, “Wayne's plan required someone on the inside, and the STAR labs hacker used codes he shouldn’t have known. So unless we’ve got _two_ traitors…”

Traitors. The word alone felt disgusting on his lips.

He knew who could have access to the codes, and that one of them would betray them — they were his friends, his _family,_ dammit! The simple thought that one of them could stab him in the back sent shivers down his spine. He trusted them. He trusted them so damn much. And now there was not a single one he was allowed to trust. Because it could be any of them.

But once again, Ted and Victor were in the same position. And there was no doubt that behind his words, Ted was just praying really hard that there wasn’t more than one backstabber in their community.

“You’re always very vocal about your stance on any matter, Ollie,” Ted continued, “we know we can trust you, and you’re in a perfect position to watch over Young Justice. We think they might be the next target.”

“Wait —“ Vic frowned, focusing on something happening in his mind, “The news, check the news! Wayne just gave a statement!”

* * *

**Knock knock.**

Oliver waited patiently for Tim to answer. He’d heard from Connor that the boy had taken the news of the massacre particularly hard, and considering the other members of Young Justice had apparently either broken down or sworn vengeance, it was saying something. Then again, no one could really blame him. Only a few weeks ago Tim had lost his father, and now this. It wasn’t fair.

“Yeah?” Tim invited.

Oliver pushed the door opened carefully.

It was three in the morning and Tim’s room was completely dark. It was messy as always, clothes strewn all over, books opened and tossed around and CD’s stacked out of their cases and for a moment, Oliver almost hoped everything else was normal. However, the curtains were still pulled back, and Tim always closed the curtains at night. Maybe he’d forgotten, but it was so much more likely that he’d gone straight to his bed upon returning, and then never left. And he wasn’t even sleeping.

No, Tim was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his face lit up in a icy blue light by his laptop. There were bags under his eyes, and a cold cup of coffee on his night stand. He didn’t even look up to see who had knocked, and kept his eyes on the screen instead. For a few seconds, Oliver let the sound of the keyboard replace conversation.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Tim in this state. He’d considered the possibility of obsessive behaviour from the boy the moment he’d crashes into their lives with proof of their identities and mountains of investigative work to back all his claims. Then there were the times where he’d taken school projects to whole new levels. And then there where those sleepless nights he’d spent training and shooting arrows after Superboy had broken his arm. Those, in particular, had scared Oliver.

Diana suspected it was a form of denial. A way to focus on something so he didn’t have to face his actual problems. Oliver always thought it was a question of pride and passion. Perhaps he’d been wrong after all.

“How are you holding up, son?” Oliver asked, taking a few steps forward. 

 _Son_. The word was starting to feel strange on his lips. He’d always considered Tim as his protégé, his kid, but until recently, Tim had had a real father. What was an affective nickname became an invasive assumption. Jack Drake had made Oliver Tim’s guardian over a year ago, when his sickness had started becoming obvious. But now Tim knew the truth, that his dad didn’t hate him, and maybe Oliver didn’t have quite the same place in Tim’s heart than Tim had in his.

He used to ruffle the boy’s hair after every job. Now he couldn’t tell which actions were appropriate,  and which should only have been coming from Jack Drake. He was scared of being around Tim, because he couldn’t tell what he was allowed to do anymore.

“I’m fine, you?” Tim replied, only allowing a fraction of his attention to drift from whatever he was working on.

 _Denial_ , Diana was saying in his mind, _he’s in denial._

“Kid,” Oliver sighed, sinking into the bed as he sat down. The movement finally made Tim turn to look at him. “I know you and Jade were close.”

Tim stopped typing. Oliver almost thought he saw the boy’s eye twitch, but it was probably just a trick of the light.

“I’m sorry I forced you to go back to Young Justice,” Oliver apologised frankly, “I thought it would be good for you. I didn’t think…”

“That we’d get attacked by Bizarro and the League of Assassins?” Tim finished with a raised eyebrow, “Young Justice isn’t a clubhouse.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Oliver snapped, before catching himself, “Shit — sorry, kid. I just — I meant that you lost your dad, and now your girl too. If you need a break from all the… hero business…”

“I don’t,” Tim replied seriously, “honest.”

Oliver opened his mouth to argue, but he chose not to. Tim’s laptop was all but forgotten now, and two clear blue eyes were fixed on Oliver’s. For a second, the archer was reminded of the little kid who’d followed him around for weeks trying to get him to take in a new Speedy. He remembered that kid who’d found Connor and dragged him back all across the country to punch some sense into him when Hal had become Parallax and Oliver had fallen into depression. He remembered that kid he’d hugged until he felt asleep after his father had suddenly kicked him out of the house, and who’d woken up the next morning with renewed determination to help other people.

He could still see Tim coming home confused and asking Diana how to apologise to his girlfriend. Tim trying to juggle his heroic nights with his mundane schoolwork. Tim trying to hide the scorch mark he’d left in the living room by accident. Tim torn between helping his friend get away with shoplifting or anonymously tipping the police.

He was all grown up now. Seventeen and kicking ass. Making his own decisions. 

Tears threatened to fall.

“Then I have a job for you,” Oliver decided against all his instincts, “there's a traitor in the community, and we think they might be targeting Young Justice. I’d like you to tell me if anyone — friend or foe — approaches your team and what they want with you. Keep an eye out.”

Tim’s frowned hardened, then he asked “A traitor?”. 

Oliver’s pained silence was his answer.

He seemed about to say no for a second. But then the boy slowly nodded.

“Deal,” he agreed.

* * *

As it turned out, Bruce had had very little trouble finding the lost children. He knew Gotham better than anyone, and he knew all the safest spots to live hidden like the back of his hand. Based on how long they’d gone undetected, how many mouths thy had to feed and where they had access to, Bruce finally managed to compile a list short enough to be able to visit all the places one by one.

He dressed in casual clothes and messed his hair before adding a pair of glasses to his face. The changes seemed small, but they made Bruce into a whole new person. Rather than a CEO, he looked more like a messy History teacher. He hijacked a car from the hotel he was currently living in under a fake name (leaving behind enough money to get a new one) and went on with his itinerary.

Visiting these kind of places were always an adventure, especially during very early hours. He wasn’t the only one who knew about them obviously. All the people of Gotham who cold navigate the city like fish in water were aware of their existence. Hence it wasn’t uncommon for them to be occupied by other refugees or small time criminals looking to store drugs, weapon or whatever they were guilty of. Whatever the reason, people came here to be hidden, or to hide other things.

Like a corpse, for example.

Bruce stared at the lifeless figure in front of him. He was in an abandoned office building between the main city and the Narrows. On the sixth floor. The sixth floor was completely empty. There was no relevant criminal or legal activity for blocks around this building. It felt like finding a cadaver floating in the middle of the ocean, dressed in suit and tie.

Out of habit, Bruce kneeled down to examine the victim.

Around fifty-five years old. Smells of beer. Expensive suit. Bullet to the heart. Killed by a professional. A very good professional. Died five days ago. Lines imprinted around his eyes - wore a mask?

Wait.

The style of clothing.

The shape of the mask that was taken from him.

Height. Weight.

Black Mask.

Bruce frowned. The Black Mask he’d met at the meeting only three days before had been an imposter. 

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for a crime boss to be killed and replaced, but it took great skill to pretend to be the same guy. Was the whole drunk act just that after all? An act? It was perfect to hide any inconsistency in mannerism, and if the Black Mask already was an alcoholic, all the better.

Bruce couldn’t afford to get involved in underground politics at the moment, he realised. He was being hunted, and there were children in need of help. Besides, this wasn’t even his world technically.

He moved on to the next location. And then the next. And then the next.

It was only as he was visiting the parking lot of a supermarket in the Narrows that he got lucky. The parking was underground, and the architect had been a bit optimistic. He’d thought the supermarket would need six levels of parking, but there were rarely that many customers. The last two levels were never needed. In fact, all the lights had gone out on the last one save for three, blinking ones who barely provided enough light so read the rusty exit sign.

Bruce immediately saw signs of the place being inhabited. Snack wrappers, blankets and buckets of water were spread across the oversized playground. A few switched off flashlights were rolling around, having just been abandoned. It was good he had good sight in the dark.

Then, just as he was about to take another step forward, a figure jumped at him and attacked.

Bruce stopped the first kick with his forearm and dropped to dodge the second. The figure landed back on the ground, or at least tried to. However, with both legs effecting a circular motion, it wasn’t hard to guess were the feet would land, and swipe them from under before the figure could react. With a startled yelp, the figure lost its balance — in quite a spectacular way too — and only failed to crack its head on the floor because Bruce grabbed its arm and pulled it close.

There was only one person he knew who had such a venomous relationship with gravity.

“Never sacrifice sure footing for a chance to strike, Batgirl,” Bruce whispered in the ear of the figure.

“Um, who asked _you_ , Confuci — Wait, how did you call me?” Stephanie backtracked, swapping her tension for confusion. Her hair was a tangled, greasy blonde mess and she looked positively wild, but there was no mistaking the blue eyes that shone between stray strands of hair, or the sass in her voice. And if that wasn’t enough, she was wearing _purple_ socks. Well, one purple sock. Or, would that be eggplant?

“That move was Cassandra’s,” Bruce continued, still holding her close enough that her shoulder was touching his ribs, “don't try to copy her style.”

“Bruce?” Stephanie spluttered finally looking at his face properly, “What — Wait, _our_ Bruce? B? The Big Bad Bat? Bat-dad? Batty Bat? Batsy Broody? Dracu-Bat?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“I swear I don’t call you any of this on a regular basis,” Stephanie corrected herself.

“I've heard you over the comms in the past,” Bruce told her neutrally.

“Busted,” the blonde muttered to herself.

“Inside voice, Stephanie,” ‘Bat-dad’ admonished with no little amusement. 

“Dammit,” the young woman cursed. Finding Stephanie here had lifted a bit of weight from his shoulder. There was a chance she had information on their situation and besides - _Alfred holding up a gun at him, the Justice League hunting him_ \- he was more efficient working with someone than not.

Bruce peered over his protégé’s head to see the small cluster of children cowering in a corner of the parking lot, behind a column. They were far enough to be safe from Bruce, and close enough to keep an eye on Steph. Most of them were between seven and fifteen, with Stephanie the eldest and a kid barely old enough to walk the youngest. All of them were dressed in clothes that obviously hadn’t been washed in a month. In fact, they all looked like they had just come back from a jungle expedition turned Jurassic Park experience. 

Other than Steph’s swollen hand, there were no obvious injuries. The young woman had done a great job at keeping them safe and staying under the radar. Bruce was oddly proud. Both her escape and her leadership were proof she had come a long way since her Spoiler days — and it was all on her.

Bruce glanced down at the girl who had now wrapped her arms around him.

Stephanie froze, and immediately let go, both hands in the air as if she was being arrested.

“Sorry,” she apologised sheepishly, “I really, really thought I was alone this whole time - I’m so glad you’re here too!”

“You haven’t caught the news at all?” Bruce reproached, “Keeping informed is ess—“

“Essential for survival because knowledge is power and blah blah blah,” Stephanie finished, “I know, Bruce. You told me. Multiple times. Failing to prepare is preparing to fail and all that. I was Robin too, remember? But we can’t all be you, and keeping these children safe, fed and hydrated in a world I know nothing about is already plenty tough for me. Why? Did you tell the world about our situation? And why are you dressed like this?”

He pretended to ignore the accusation in her voice, because he didn’t how else to handle Stephanie Brown. Truth was, despite the symbol she wore on her chest, Bruce only had a small part to play in the making of the new Batgirl. He’d taught her the basics as Robin but anything beyond had been through the Birds’ guidance, Tim and Cassandra’s influence, and through her own hard work.

It made him feel guilty about criticising her, _she_ made him feel guilty about criticising her. Every time he pointed out a problem, her tone reminded him that he had abandoned her training, and that he had no rights to act as her mentor anymore.

And the worst was, he could see it in her eyes. Behind the defiance and the outrage, there was a glint of desperation. Though they never broached the subject, they both knew Stephanie still longed for his approval. But she was expecting too much of him. Bruce wasn’t a good mentor. He wasn’t a good father. Hell, he wasn’t even a good hero as he was learning currently. Stephanie was an admirable young woman; she was strong, determined and creative. She was human and optimistic when the mission had dragged everyone else into the shadows. The only thing that weighted her down was the Bat on her chest and the expectations that came with.

 _Stephanie too._ Stephanie too would be happier in this world without Batman. Her father wasn’t a criminal, and she didn’t have a legacy to live up to. Who else had Bruce screwed over with his crusade?

“The Justice League is hunting me down,” Bruce told her, pushing those thoughts aside. He’d been doubting himself more and more ever since — _his parents, alive, scared, of him_ — ever since he’d arrived in this world. It wasn’t the time for self-pity though. They had to figure out their situation, to get out from the corner they were being backed into. Right now, Bruce needed solutions. He needed to be Batman. He needed focus and logic.

“I'm sorry, _what_?”

“Bruce Wayne is a criminal here,” he elaborated, “and he’s responsible for the murder of the whole Justice Society of America. There isn’t a single hero out there who isn’t after my skin.”

“ _Christ_ , what do we do? I mean, most heroes want to punch you in the face on regular days,” Stephanie pointed out very helpfully, “but they don’t actively hunt you down. And, I know I went all bravado on you when you came back from the dead about how I was Batgirl and all, but the Justice League is way above my pay check.”

“The children are our priority for now,” Bruce decided, “then we try to figure out why we’re here and who else is here with us. I already sent a mess — _GUNS!_ ”

**Bang! Bang!**

Stephanie and Bruce both ducked and rolled out of the way of a round of bullets that landed right where their feet had been. Bruce immediately went behind to shield the children, while Stephanie took off sideways, remaining between the attackers and her ducklings. She took a fighting stance, but with no weapons on her and that much distance between her and the shooters, her chances were slim.

Standing at the entrance of the parking lot were two men. The first one was standing straight, shotgun aimed directly at Steph, his red helmet popping out from the cold, metallic blue hue of the location.

The second was staggering as he walked forwards, catching himself on the first’s shoulder when he stumbled. He had a handgun in one hand, and a bottle in the other. Only he seemed unaffected by the heavy tension, but then again, he was fairly drunk, in appearance. He took advantage of the small pause procured by their stare off to take a swig through his black mask.

He was a good actor, Bruce had to admit.

“You know,” the Red Hood started smugly, “Black Mask and I don’t get along much usually, but it would seem that working together has paid off. Bruce Wayne, the most wanted man in the world, and the brats we’ve been looking for for days, all together, nicely wrapped.”

“You would betray me?” Bruce asked cooly.

“You have _a lot_ of money on your head right now,” the Red Hood shrugged without remorse, “and from the looks of how chummy you were with blondie just now, I’m going to assume you betrayed us first. I even got a video and all,” the crook took out his smart phone and waved it in front of them, “think about it, pursued not only by all the heroes in the world, but also by all the criminals in Gotham.”

Stephanie moved forward, ready to charge, but the Red Hood raised a finger to stop her. Bruce couldn’t tell what it was that was making her tick. On one hand, the Red Hood was being an obnoxious bastard, and on the other, the Black Mask.

Black Mask: the man who had killed her once, who had tortured her to death. The man who wasn’t actually Black Mask.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the Red Hood sang, “make a move against me and I send the video. You can’t move faster than I can click send on my phone.”

They couldn’t. Not at this distance. Not without weapons they were familiar enough with to throw them with pinpoint accuracy. Bruce grit his teeth, hating being in this world where he was just flesh and bones, where he couldn’t tell what knowledge of his was valid and what was fantasy. Stephanie was sending him an inquisitive look, obviously waiting for a sign.

“You dug your own grave, Wayne,” the Red Hood sighed, “you shouldn’t have betrayed us.”

“Speaking of betrayal,” Black Mask slurred.

 **Bang**!

Twenty years of crime fighting were all that had kept Bruce from jumping at the sudden shot. The same couldn’t be said of the children behind him who immediately dissolved in hysterical cries as they watched the Red Hood’s guts splatter on the ground through his black suit. Even Steph had gasped despite her training, and for once, Bruce didn’t feel like blaming her inexpertness.

In a split second, Black Mask had gone from a mess of limbs to a rigid, confident, perfect posture of a hitman, his arm stretched straight, his eyes focused on his victim’s stomach, and his legs in a solid stance. Any sign of alcoholism had vanished.

 **Thud**.

Bruce could only stare in mild horror as the Red Hood fell limply on the ground, his 'colleague’ seemingly unmoved. He wasn’t dead, but he would be if he didn’t get treatment quickly, and the Black Mask didn’t look too concerned with time. Calmly, he holstered his gun back.

“You must be the new Batgirl,” he said, walking towards Steph with a hand offered for a shake, and completely sober, “we finally meet.”

When Stephanie didn’t take his hand, he shrugged, turned to Bruce and removed his mask.

“I got your message, B,” he smirked, running a hand through his black hair, “not very subtle.”

“Jason,” Bruce greeted with no small amount of wariness.

* * *

“Deal,” Tim agreed.

Queen looked like he wanted to stay longer, but he must have felt on some level that Tim wanted a bit of solitude. He gave him a last pat on the shoulder as he rose from the bed. It was moments like these where Tim felt like a rotten asshole.

“Good night,” he wished.

“You too,” Tim returned, watching patiently as the door to his room closed again. Then, he asked, “You heard all that, didn’t you?”

“Not by choice,” Damian deadpanned from the other end of the comm link.

“I didn’t think he’d stay long,” Tim explained, “and then he’d have noticed if I reached for my comm. Let’s just go back to planning your great escape from the League.”

“You‘re an idiot, Red,” Damian hissed, not very surprisingly, “Queen just gave you a way out, why didn’t you take it?”

“I thought we went over this, Robin,” Tim frowned, “between you and Bruce, me being part of the hero community is an advantage. I can gather information and maybe manipulate a few strings so things go our way. Plus, if one of you get caught, I’m your best chance.”

“They're hunting for a traitor, Red,” Damian reminded him, “You know where that trail will lead them. The more you enact your ridiculous plans, the faster the walls will close on you.”

He really didn’t need to be reminded of that. He’d made these plans without thinking someone would actively be looking into it too hard; he hadn’t covered his tracks well enough. Right now, Tim was a ticking bomb waiting to be set off. And he was all too conscious of it.

“I'll be fine,” Tim dismissed. He probably wasn’t going to be.

“They will think you helped father _murder_ the old fools,” Damian argued, “you’re as cornered as I am."

“I'll manage,” Tim insisted, “I’ll find a way. I can do this. I can — Look. Bruce can take care of himself, and the Justice League won’t kill a seventeen year old kid they’ve raised. The League of Assassins on the other hand…”

But he’d fuck up with Damian once, and he wasn’t going to do it again.

“I can handle it,” Damian huffed, “I've been bred from birth to—”

“Damian,” Tim cut in, “I know you don’t like me. Especially after what I said the last time we saw each other. But right now is really not the time to act strong. You said so yourself, you have nothing to prove to me. For once in our lives, let’s put our differences aside. I’ll even let Zatanna wipe that memory from my mind if you want once we get back. So, be honest, what do _you_ want?”

For a while, the comm link was silent, and Tim was afraid the younger boy had ditched his comm in a fit of rage. However, before he had the time to act on it, his earpiece came back to life.

“I,” Damian started, before admitting in a small voice, “I want to get out."

“Then let’s get you out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to Kateri for guessing a lot of stuff right! I'm afraid Cat Girl and Cass will remain mysteries for now, but if you continue to pick up hints like that, you might actually guess their deal before I write it ;)
> 
> Next up: Bruce snaps, Damian dies and Tim is starting to really be fucked. Happy times ahead.


	7. The Heroic Ideal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie has to deal with Jason's daddy issues (AKA Bruce) and Bruce's guilt complex (AKA Jason). Meanwhile, Connor watches as his little brother is forced to do something he can't come back from, and Cassie is given the job that's going to throw the whole League on the wrong track. It shows the smart ones aren't always the ones who are right, and it's that very thought that drowns the Batman.

The three displaced vigilantes didn’t get the time to exchange more than half assed greetings. As soon as Bruce growled out “Jason,” three ice cream trucks screeched into the carpark at full speed, like their drivers couldn’t tell reality from Grand theft auto. Jason raised his hand, and the three trucks came to a stop in a semi-circle behind him, clearly following his command.

The policemen’s children tensed and huddled closer together.

“They're friendly,” Jason said. Who he was addressing was ambiguous at best.

“You sure, boss?” A broken voice asked from the driver’s side of the middle truck. Its owner sounded no older than fifteen, and he was. A small bundle of a gangster - oversized hoodie, baggy sweatpants and patterned bandana - exited the truck and jogged to Jason’s side, warily looking at Bruce like a cat assessing a stranger’s hand. “He dun’ look harmless.”

The kid puffed his chest, in an attempt to intimidate Bruce.

Stephanie would have laughed - only, it was _Jason Todd_ in front of her. Jason Todd was, well, how best to describe it? Jason Todd was a story. An overly told bedtime story. They always talked about Jason Todd. Even when they refused to speak his name, he was there in their guilt.

And like every popular story, Jason Todd was open for interpretation. Sometimes he was the Little Red Riding Hood who hadn’t been careful enough, and sometimes he was the Big Bad Wolf, hungry and cunning. It really depended on the narrator. Tim told it like a heroic adventure, Bruce like a real greek tragedy, and Dick like a cautionary tale. 

There were many tellings of his story, but there was only one man, and he was standing only a few feet from Stephanie. He was freakishly tall and buff, with pale skin erratically splattered with bruises and scratches. He had blue eyes, though Stephanie had heard they turned green sometimes. He had a soft face, but one that seemed predisposed for mischief or anger, with pointed eyebrows, piercing eyes and a wide smile that could easily be toppled over.

He was real.

“And you look like a fuzzy bunny, little man,” Stephanie retorted sarcastically, forcing herself to look away from the Robin she’d heard so much about, “did the dirty sneakers come with the exaggerated Alley accent?”

Bruce’s frown fell a little flat, which meant he really wanted to face palm in Bat-speak.

“Watcha' say, blondie?” the kid growled, a blush colouring he cheeks.

“I said careful with all that bling,” Stephanie smirked, “you might frighten a mouse.”

“I’ll show you—“

“Q,” Jason interrupted, amused. He was looking at Steph strangely, as if he was expecting something from her. “Both of them could break your arms and legs before you even _think_ of hurting them.”

The tiny gangster wannabe blanched, and Jason laughed heartily. He didn’t look _that_ insane. Maybe Dick had been exaggerating. All the Bats were drama queens after all.

“Sorry about the getup, BG,” he apologised, extending his hand once more, “Black Mask is your Joker, isn’t he? Next time I beat the fuck out of him, I’ll leave you a piece.”

“This isn’t the time for chit chat,” Bruce reminded them sternly, a reprimand hiding in his voice not so subtly, “this man needs immediate medical attention.”

Stephanie looked at Jason’s feet and suddenly remembered the man who was bleeding his guts there. Yikes, forgetting about the injured nearly-dying victim was not gonna earn her many bat-points, was it?

Jason didn’t look nearly as worried about Bruce’s opinion of him. He only rolled his eyes at the comment, clearly indicating his opinion on criminals and what they deserved. He reclaimed his extended hand to cross it over his chest impatiently.

“Is that — is that the Red Hood?” Q stammered, almost in awe. Any more surprise would have popped his eyes right out of his skull.

“Yup,” Jason grinned, popping the ‘p' with pride. Bruce’s jaw clenched, and Steph had a feeling he was exerting a lot of self control. An argument blown a thousand times between the two was hanging in the air, and Jason was taunting Bruce to start it again.

“Guys, Jay got the Red Hood too!” The kid called back, practically giddy.

A bunch of similarly dressed children flooded from the trucks - girls and boys from ten to twenty. They all peered at the unconscious form of the Red Hood with buzzing glee and curiosity. Stephanie’s own flock had come closer some time since the arrival of Jason, and suddenly the three bats and the future corpse were surrounded by a sea of children. Half were wary, half were excited, and all were looking at the Red Hood.

“This is starting to feel like the Batcave,” Stephanie whispered.

“The Batcave isn’t a children’s park,” Bruce replied, looking honestly offended at the thought of his holy sanctuary being anything else than a very serious, very grim, crime lab.

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, “Sure it isn’t.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t one of Jason’s brats who acted first.

Tristan, a twelve year old kid who’d been Steph’s neighbour in the cell, stepped forward, and kicked the limp body.

“He took us,” Tristan mumbled accusingly.

There was a pause.

“Don’t—" Bruce started threateningly, and within the split second it took for the man to change demeanour, Stephanie was reminded why people feared him so much. Tristan hastily took a step back, scared to the point of crying, but Jason's hand stopped him.

It was a strong gesture - a hand on the shoulder, tightly gripped but not hurtful. _Stand your ground_ , he seemed to say. Jason challenged Bruce with his eyes, and Bruce had too much of a soft spot for kids to engage in violent behaviour there and then.

And so the Batman and the Red Hood came to a standstill once more, and Tristan was uncomfortably stuck in the middle.

“This man took you, _hurt_ you,” Jason said to the former hostages, “he can’t hurt you now.”

If these words were meant to reassure the kids, Jason had failed spectacularly. Of course, Jason hadn’t meant to be reassuring - it wasn’t his style. A few minutes into finally meeting him and Stephanie already knew he was a troublemaker. He didn’t want to soften them up - he wanted to agitate them, and he did. _But_ you _can hurt_ him, he was saying.

Already, tension was thickening around the small crowd. Fists were balled, teeth gritted, and anger was mounting. These kids were Gothamites, and in Gotham, you gave as good as you got.

“Revenge isn’t justice,” Bruce warned.

“There is no justice in the streets,” Jason replied icily, “you're preaching to the science convention.”

“Jason,” Bruce insisted, “we need to be on the same page for now, these children—“

“You don’t get it, Bruce,” Jason interrupted, releasing Tristan, “you’ve never been one of them. You’ve never even met the other Black Mask and this Red Hood asshole. You don’t know what they do to kids. Or did you think the Red Hood just _happened_ to have child sized shackles in his fucking basement?”

Stephanie paled. She hadn’t even thought — _Jesus_. 

Bruce didn’t even blink. _Of course_ , he’d already deduced it.

“Their names are Francis Paris and Gregory Sionis,” Jason continued, “their animosity comes from them being business rivals. Together, they own all of the child prostitution in Gotham. They deserve to fucking die.”

“This is not for you to decide,” Bruce snarled back.

“No, it’s for _them_ to decide,” Jason replied, tilting his head towards the children encircling them, who were slowly tightening the perimeter.

“Stephanie,” Bruce suddenly said, “they'll listen to you.”

What he was asking was obvious. A word from Stephanie and the former hostages would back off. However, Bruce wasn’t even looking at Stephanie, because Stephanie wasn’t important or relevant to the current situation. It was clear she was only a means to stop Jason at the moment, and wasn’t that just flattering. Bruce just had a way to make people feel so wanted and loved (note the _heavy_ sarcasm).

The children were long forgotten as Bruce and Jason snarled at each other. This wasn’t about the other Red Hood or the hostages or even the small gangsters wanting revenge. To Bruce, it was about dragging his estranged son back on the 'rightful path’ and to Jason, it was about rebelling against the Batman and proving him wrong. They were so obsessed by their little soap opera it was almost pathetic. Why almost? It was _completely_ pathetic! Locking themselves in their bubble of angst and man-pain, trying to out-testosterone the other. Stephanie scoffed. And people said _girls_ were overly dramatic?

Seriously, she could almost see obnoxious peacock feathers rising from their asses.

“I'm sure both of you have admirable dicks but could we stop measuring and go back to staying alive, please?” Stephanie asked.

Aaaand the tension broke. One pair of slightly disturbed eyes and one of surprised ones turned to Steph. A young child gasped at the d-word. An older one had covered his eyes to shield him. Obviously, it didn’t work.

“Oh boy, I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Steph chuckled nervously, “I just commented on Batman’s dick to his face. Great.”

Jason snorted, and the angry little shit who had once stolen the Batmobile’s tires was gone, replaced by the snarky second Robin. She was starting to see where Dick got the ‘unstable’ part of Jason’s description.

The children must have subconsciously felt the change in dynamic, because they had gone from bloodthirsty to confused. They were looking up to Jason, and every slight change of his attitude were reflected in his followers.

“We need to work together,” Bruce deflated, choosing to pretend Stephanie hadn’t opened her mouth (which was a pretty wise course of action 85.7% of the time, studies showed), “we don’t know enough about the situation we’re in, and we can’t afford to waste our time and energy on each other. It’s going to take compromises from _both_ sides, but we need to be on the same team. I — We need your help, Jason… Please.”

That ‘please' was spoken like an argument, but it was easy to see what it really was. It was the equivalent of begging and pleading with tears in his eyes and a bunch of pre-thought apologies bunched up in his throat. They’d all known from the start that Bruce was in quite a pickle, especially if he’d sent out a message so general that even Jason could respond to it. Normally he’d use the newly generated references only people who’d been in the Batcave within the last three days would get.

The former Robin took a moment to consider his option, but unlike what people thought, Jason wasn’t stupid. He could probably outsmart the Calculator with the right motivation, and there was no way he was going to let his pride blind him to the point of slapping Bruce’s hand away. He too was stuck here for the time being, and he’d be pretty arrogant if he thought having Bats at his side wouldn’t be the biggest advantage. For all he was angry and vindictive, he respected skill where it was. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have responded to Bruce’s call for help at all if he hadn’t been looking for help as well in the first place.

“I won’t kill or make you kill,” Jason conceded, “but as long as we’re hiding in the streets of Gotham, _you_ do as _I_ say. You may know all about the hierarchy of Falcone’s empire, but you don’t know shit when it comes to street kids.”

“Fine,” Bruce allowed reluctantly.

“Well isn’t everything in the world suddenly perfect?” Jason deadpanned, before turning to his minions, “Guys, we’re leaving the Red Hood here—”

“Jason!”

“He may still be breathing but he’s already dead,” Jason said indifferently, “trust me. He has a lot of enemies, and we can’t afford to be caught or to stay any longer. It’s him or us.”

He spoke in facts, and Stephanie realised they were talking to the Jason who was an expert in military strategy and criminal psychology. Bruce must have come to the same conclusion, as he only upped his grumpiness by twenty instead of nine thousand. Man, Stephanie could probably do a phD on Bat-communication by now.

Point was, Jason was right. Even if they did save the Red Hood's life, not only would they be caught by the Justice League, but the Red Hood would get killed in his cell anyway. He'd been the jailer of the policemen's kids, and between the policemen's vengeance and his colleague's disappointment at his cock up, someone was bound to come for him now. Red Hood himself obviously knew it; he'd come so far as to team up with the Black Mask in a desperate attempt to tape over all the holes in his submarine. And besides, while Batman would normally try everything to save a life, Bruce wasn't...

He wasn't right.

Stephanie couldn't tell what it was, but there was something more subdued about him. Any other day he'd already have given Stephanie and Jason orders without questioning whether or not he had any rights to. Yet there he was, listening and oddly hesitant. Something must have happened, because if Stephanie was right, then the Batman was shaken.

“All you midgets,” Jason continued, gesturing to the policemen’s children, “climb in the ice cream trucks. We’ll bring you somewhere safe while we figure out how to take you home.”

“Go ahead,” Steph piped in when they turned to her for confirmation. Then, she said to Jason, “Cramming kids into ice cream trucks, huh? You’re filling Black Mask’s shoes better than you thought.”

Jason wasn’t offended by her comment. Instead, he smirked and replied “you know, you’re just like Cass said you would be.”

A beat.

“You’ve spoken to _Cass_?” Steph and Bruce asked, one full of curiosity, and one edging dangerously close to an overprotective father with a shotgun displayed over his bed.

* * *

The first time Connor had met Tim, he’d been living in an ashram for years, and the boy’s voice hadn’t broken yet. Back then, Connor’s days often melted into each other, sculpted in a solid routine that rarely fluctuated. He saw the same ten faces every morning, shot the same twenty targets in the afternoon, and meditated over the same hours every night. He’d grown attached to his life with the other monks, but it was a calm life, and one without highs and lows.

And then there’d been Tim.

Tim had crashed into the ashram, metaphorically speaking, grabbed Connor by his robes, and dragged him all the way to Star city. He’d spoken faster than anyone Connor had ever heard, and kept fidgeting with excitement. He’d been like a hot potato that had suddenly fallen into Connor’s hands and that the blond had had to juggle it until either Tim cooled down or Connor got used to him.

It hadn’t been the former.

From then on, Connor expected change to follow Tim. There was life before Tim, life after Tim, and nothing in the intersection of the two. 

Tim wasn’t like Connor, who’d been born with the Green Arrow’s legacy, or like Oliver, whom tragedy had shook into becoming a vigilante. Tim had chosen this life, and all of his decisions and initiatives were always all on him, and rarely on the circumstances surrounding him. And somewhere in his mind, Connor thought that that was far more admirable. More than anyone else, Tim was a hero out of dedication and passion.

But it was like the world was hell bent on making him like all the other heroes. Broken, vindictive, traumatised, sad. First it had been Superboy taking away his friendship and his confidence with a broken arm. Then it had been Leviathan, solidifying the rift between Tim and Young Justice by taking his spleen. Then his father, Jack Drake, kicked him out of the house without explanation. And then Jack Drake died, leaving Tim angry at his other father figure for lying to him, and devastated in the wake of the funeral. And then the JSA was wiped, and with it Jade, the girl everyone was betting he was going to ask out within a month. All in a few years' time.

Fate was cruel to the boy who’d done nothing but offer his heart to others.

And once again, only a week after the attack on the JSA, it had rained down on the seventeen year old like a tropical storm.

Connor tentatively approached his brother, who was having trouble breathing. The younger boy already had backed himself against the wall facing his room, but his legs were still trying to slide him further away.

“Timmy,” Connor soothed, reaching for one of Tim’s blood covered hands, “it's okay, you’re okay.”

“H — He…” Tim stammered, his eyes stuck to the limp shape on his bed.

Connor followed his eyes and met with Oliver’s, who was examining the body. For a while, Connor could only pray for good fortune — because dammit, karma did not work like that! However, the arrow that was sticking out of the body told him all he needed to. Oliver closing his eyes and clenching his teeth only confirmed it.

“I didn’t — I panicked!” Tim continued, clearly distraught, “I didn’t want to — he — I —”

“It's okay, Tim,” Connor repeated. The words fell shallow on him too though, and Oliver couldn’t even be bothered to pretend they were helping.

Perhaps they were all a bit unsettled. It was one thing to have villains trying to kill them when they were out there, in masks and costumes, but this was inside their home, and they were in pyjamas. Tim’s room had been completely trashed in the struggle, and his mind was in no better state.

It had all happened too fast. One second Connor and Oliver had been watching a cooking show on the television, and the next there’d been a shout of surprise, a crash, and, when they’d run to the source, a hyperventilating Tim and a bloody lump on his bed.

A part of Connor, the one he’d inherited from his father, was glad things had gone down that way. Because had Tim not panicked, had Tim not lashed out in self defence, had he not grabbed the nearest arrow and stabbed the threat before his mind could even comprehend what it was doing, Tim would have been the one there instead. He’d been taught that all life was sacred, but Damn if some half of Connor wasn’t happy about seeing the lifeless lump on Tim’s bed. Tim had already lost so much, fate could at least let him keep his life.

It was a selfish thought, and Connor immediately banished it. Tim was alive, yes, but at what price?

The seventeen year old was positively trembling, and his breath was becoming more and more erratic. This wasn’t like the first time he hadn’t been able to save someone, or the first time he’d miss an important shot. This was something he would never be completely at peace with, something that would make him doubt and hate himself more than any mistake. It was something that would eat at his belief.

“I killed him,” Tim cried, “I killed him.”

Leviathan had had no business attacking them in their home.

It was only then that Oliver noticed the bomb, and grabbed his sons away from the room before the corpse blew up. Between the warehouse with Bizarro, the Young Justice mansion, and now his room, Fate sure liked to destroy everything around Tim. Honour in death, Oliver guessed afterwards, Leviathan had wanted to drag his target with him if he fell.

* * *

The buzzing of her cellphone caught her by surprise. It was ridiculous of course. Her, Cassandra Sandsmark, demigod and Wonder Girl, startled by the puny buzz of her phone. She had faced monsters and myths and legends, for Zeus’s sake! Granted, it wasn’t everyday one woke up with an ominous message starting with “Don’t tell Diana.” That alone had set of a gazillion alarms in her head, and the fact that it had been a message from the super tech couple hadn’t helped. Sure they were some of the nicest and smartest people in the world, but with things as they were, the chances of them inviting her for tea were very, very slim.

Hence there she was, watching the floor numbers climb as she stood in the hidden elevator of Kord Tower. The music was terribly tacky, and it only gnawed further on her nerves. So yes. She may have yelped a bit when her phone buzzed.

It was Connor. Something had happened between Tim and Leviathan.

For a second, her breath caught.

Tim and Leviathan. These two names in the same sentence froze her blood — and didn’t she just hate that it did. But Tim was one of her oldest friends, and that cursed image of him choking on his own blood, his back arching with every cough, his skin pale as death and his eyes wide with fear, begging for her to help — the image of him broken on a pile of debris, limbs limp and arm bended backwards, a sharp bone protruding from where it shouldn’t have been.

She knew too well of what Tim thought of being handled like fine glass. Him being human didn’t warrant this level of coddling. But dammit, Tim didn’t know what it was like to see his worst nightmare with his own eyes. Even now Cassie’s friends’ death haunted her dreams and she couldn’t — she couldn’t risk it.

Leviathan had nearly killed Tim once.

She got to the second line of the text before panicking, and thank god that she did. Tim was fine (this was in bold letters, as Connor would have known she’d panic) and Leviathan was not. A weight lifted from her shoulder.

Ding!

The elevator doors slid to reveal the entrance to the Blue Beetle’s (senior) penthouse bunker. It was sleek in design as expected from a modern CEO, but it still felt very warm and homely. It was all the small things that tended to that effect: the fuzzy welcome mat, a small cactus plant, holes in the wall where Ted had attempted to play darts with Arsenal’s toys…

Ted himself opened the door, greeting Cassie with his usual childish grin and comedian gestures. “Wonder Girl!” He cheered, “Come in, come in.”

He led her to a large table, which had once been an arcade game (because of course Ted couldn’t just have a table).

Like usual, Barbara Gordon-Kord, more famously known as Gorgon, was there. She was just one of these women who inspired awe in everyone, and to whom young girls and boys looked up systematically. She was only human, but even Cassie, who hung around Wonder Woman daily, had to admit her auburn red hair and intelligent blue gaze were both breathtaking and intimidating.

“Hello Cassie,” she said, “would you like something to drink?”

“Don't push yourself honey,” Ted smiled, gently pushing her back into her seat before she could walk to the fridge, “I can get it.”

“I'm fine,” Cassie turned down, “are you feeling better?”

Barbara rolled her eyes, “It’s not a disease, you know?”

“Sorry,” Cassie apologised sheepishly, “It's just that, well, er…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” the red head laughed, waving her hand in dismissal, “Ted is so much worst. I keep having to remind him that even if my legs were taken away I’d probably still be able to beat the hell out of him.”

“That remains to be seen,” Ted challenged, placing a glass of water in front of Cassie despite her earlier answer. Barbara’s eyebrow rose, and Ted relented, “Alright, alright! Yes, you would totally have me buried six foot under in record time.”

“Buried?” Vic, the Cyborg, scoffed, “Let's be real, man. She’d cremate your body and scatter the ashes rather than chance a black lantern ring finding your corpse.”

Okay, so Cassie had noticed Victor Stone upon entering. It was hard not to see him, with his massive football player build and all those chunks of machinery. She had just chosen not to think about it, because while the Blue Beetle senior and the Cyborg were not the most powerful members of the Justice League, two out of seven still meant business. Besides, Ted, Vic, and Barbara were probably the three biggest computer geniuses in the world, and being outsmarted by everyone in the room left Cassie a bit self-conscious.

“Oh, I wouldn’t stop there,”  Barbara added coyly, caressing the border of her own glass of water gently and threateningly. Ted gulped, and Cassie and Cyborg chuckled.

The laughter didn’t last long though, and quickly the silence reminded everyone that there was a discussion to be had.

“So, what’s the emergency?” Cassie ventured. The three adult turned to look at her, and she was suddenly feeling very much like a truant student in the principal’s office.

Even Ted looked serious.

“We found your stash,” he said icily.

Cassie’s heart nearly stopped for the second time that hour. What stash? Her stamp collection? Her Boy Love mangas? Or - Zeus forbids - her candid photos of Aquaman?

“I don’t have a stash,” she replied a bit too quickly.

“That’s not what your face says,” Ted retorted, narrowing his eyes.

Barbara chuckled and slapped her husband’s arm, “Stop it, Ted! She’s terrified!”

“But it’s so easy!” Ted whined, breaking character, “She looked like she was expecting detention from us.”

Oh phew, it was a joke!

“You're good,” Barbara continued, “well, there clearly is a stash judging by your reaction, but that’s none of our business… For now.” By Hera, these two were sadists. “We wanted to talk to you about Red Speedy.”

“Tim?” Cassie frowned, “Why Tim?”

“We think he may be a target of the League of Assassins,” Vic elaborated, “and I don’t know if you’ve heard, but recent events have proved it.”

“Leviathan,” Cassie realised, remembering Connor’s message.

Barbara nodded, “Good, you’ve been caught up already. Leviathan’s dead now, but that’s only going to worsen things. It may have been in self defence, and God knows Tim is probably suffering enough from sheer guilt, but Tim _killed_ the heir of the Al Ghul. They won’t let it stand.”

 _Christ_. Tim. He was one of the kindest people she knew, why hadn’t she thought of how it would affect him? Granted, she’d only received the news minutes ago, and maybe the fact that Tim had killed someone hadn’t sunk in yet… And yes, that’s what it was. Cassie just couldn’t imagine Tim impaling someone with an arrow, not even to save his own life.

Where had all the happy days gone? They used to be so careless, so blameless, all of them. Just a few years ago, they were all still swept in by the thought of being heroes fighting for justice and hope. Never in a million years would they have thought of killing someone. Before, there was black and white, and they all knew where they stood. Now, everyone was in the grey, and there were days where they woke up wondering if they were doing any good at all, and if they were any different from all the crooks they locked in prisons. Power didn't make them heroes, and every passing hour a single though crept closer and closer to their heart.

What if being a hero was only an inattainable ideal? What if people couldn't be all good? What if humanity was fundamentally rotten?

What if this fight of theirs was nothing but a child's fantasy?

They all wanted to be Superman. Fighting under the sun, punching all the bad guys away. It seemed simple, back then.

“Keep an eye on him,” Vic told her, “Closely. And especially when he doesn’t think you’re watching.”

“Surveillance. You want me to spy on Tim,” Cassie put together, slightly disturbed by the very thought of playing Big Brother on her own friend, “it sounds more like you want me to watch a _suspect_. Tim isn't -- You don’t think Tim would do something stupid, would you…?”

“We found reason to believe Tim isn’t dealing with loss in a very healthy way,” Ted told her, too solemnly for it to be another joke, “he’s reckless, and he’s prone to making very dangerous choices right now.”

“And you think he might react badly if he found out we were trying to help him,” Cassie guessed, “it makes sense,” she then reluctantly added.

Tim was acting weird. He was strangely focused at times, and strangely absent at others. Had Jade's death finally been the straw to break the camel's back? Tim could have been having a mental breakdown all along, or maybe Tim was fine and had just grown up. To be honest, it wasn't like she could know -- their relationship had been tense these past two years, and all talk had been superficial. She missed Tim.

“So?” Ted asked.

“I'll do it,” Cassie sighed.

* * *

“We should have told her the truth,” Ted groaned after Cassie had left, “this doesn’t feel right.”

“There's a reason why we didn’t tell Ollie even though he’s supposed to be working on this case with us,” Babs reminded him ruefully, “they're too close to this. Between the two of them, they’ll watch over Tim Drake twenty four seven, but if he really is the traitor, then…”

“This is going to destroy Ollie,” Vic concluded sombrely, “and Cassie. We should have asked Zachary Zatara or—“

“No,” Barbara interrupted strongly, “Cassandra is the leader of Young Justice, and she’s grown a lot over these past years. She’s by far the most mature of the lot. She’s tough enough for this, and I trust her to make the right choices. Cassandra has earned that much; she’s already a hero in her own rights.”

“Besides,” Ted added, more likely trying to convince himself than the two others, “we don’t know for sure that Tim is the traitor. I mean, what we told Cassie was kind of true; Tim has lost a lot of people, and he might just be acting out. So what if we have proof he’s the one who set Bizarro loose? It doesn’t mean he’s trying to kill us. Bizarro did save Young Justice, after all.”

“The missing kryptonite, Ted,” Vic reminded him sternly, “Superboy suddenly coming back to YJ. The fake leads pushing the League of Assassins to attack Superboy.”

“Let’s be serious,” Ted chuckled, “there’s no way Tim could have planned all that. He’s a smart kid, but that’s some Luthor level shit there.”

“He could have had help,” Barbara pointed out, “look, Ted. Tim being, well, _Tim_ , is literally the only reason why we haven’t caught him and locked him up for questioning. He’s one of us, and he deserves the benefit of the doubt. Maybe there’s a good reason for his actions, maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing or maybe he’s been tricked. But his actions are fishy as hell, and with things being as they are right now, we _cannot_ afford to turn a blind eye to something this out of place.”

“Trust but verify,” Vic confirmed, “Tim's a good kid, but he’s still a kid. Even we make bad decisions sometimes, and he’s just lost so much recently that…”

“Fine, fine!” Ted surrendered, frustrated, “I get it. I do. It’s just that — this isn’t about getting a mass murderer behind bars, okay? If Tim is up to no good, then we _talk_ him out of it. We _help_ him. He needs guidance, not a life sentence.”

“Normally I’d agree,” Barbara replied a bit too quietly. There was sadness in her voice, the sadness of someone too strong to fall in denial, of someone with the courage to face reality and all of her hounds. “But if — and only _if_ — Tim _does_ have a hand in all this, if Tim was the one manipulating the League of Assassins, then… then isn’t there a chance that he orchestrated Leviathan’s death as well? That it wasn’t self defence, but cold blooded murder?”

“Tim wouldn’t—“

“What I’m trying to say, is that maybe we don’t know Tim as much as we think. It’s probably not the case but we — we have to _consider_ _the possibilities_ , Ted. He won’t always be a kid.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha oops i lied bruce doesn't snap... yet.  
> Some stories are taking longer than i had originally planned but I have to make sure they converge at the right time so... yeah. tough work.
> 
> up next: Bruce snaps (for real this time), Tim is triple fucked from every angle, and Talia Al Ghul is not a completely shitty mother -- though her value as a person is still up for debate.


	8. Family is a chore...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's harder to ignore psychological issues when one is stuck in another world with someone one hates as only support. Tim and Damian are starting to realise that gradually, the hard way. But maybe this can help them both, somehow. Meanwhile, Damian's 'death' is not without consequence, and Bruce quickly regrets having allowed Steph and Jason to meet.

“Commendable acting, Drake.”

Drake closed his laptop and sat up, before peeking under the side of his bed. He was borrowing a room in the Watchtower while his at Queen’s house was still in a charred state. His temporary abode was clinically white, with a wide window that opened to space. It was big, clean, and modern, but it wasn’t home. Not for Drake, not for Damian and certainly not for his father.

“You shouldn’t be here, Damian,” Drake sighed as he swung his legs over the edge.

“Then you shouldn’t have given me the access codes,” Damian replied, arms crossed over his chest. He was standing as far from the bunk bed as it was possible whilst staying in the same room.

It was clear that Red Robin wasn’t too worried Damian would be found out. Just like Damian had known his sudden appearance wouldn’t make Drake jump, Drake was very well aware that Damian wasn’t just a Bat in name. Batman had given them both the blueprints of the Watchtower to study intensively, and even if this wasn’t their Watchtower, it was a close approximation. Besides, Drake looked all too tired to care.

His ruffled pyjamas contrasted greatly with the black body armour Damian had snatched from the League before leaving, and there were obvious bags under his eyes.

“Go to Hayley’s circus,” Drake told him, rubbing the side of his head as if it was aching.

“Do you think Grayson is here too?” Damian asked, a spark of hope escaping his trained facade.

“Well, we know Bruce is here,” Drake explained, “and we’re here. But no other hero seems to come from our world. And I mean, Batman, Robin, Red Robin… The pattern is there. Clearly, there are a lot more people that we should look into, like Barbara, Steph or Cass, but Nightwing’s a lot closer to Batman and to us than any of them, so there’s a higher chance of him being here.”

“That is… sound reasoning,” Damian conceded, “but what about father?”

“Bruce can take care of himself,” Drake reminded him, looking sideways.

“Father sent out a call for help,” Damian pointed out, narrowing his eyes, “do not take me for a fool, Drake. I know when I’m being sent to my room for ‘protection’ and whatnot. I am not a child, I can —”

“Damian,” Drake practically growled, “if you’re found out, I’m screwed.”

For a second there, Damian almost saw his father where Drake stood. It was his voice, the commanding finality behind his short words. Batman rarely raised his voice either. He didn’t need to, not when his presence alone was overwhelming.

He didn’t like it. It made him feel small and subjugated. How dare Drake to him like he had any authority over him? How dare Drake pretend to be his father? _His_ father? Drake wasn’t the Batman’s heir, _Damian_ was. It was _his_ place, his—

A shiver ran down his spine.

“Bruce is right in the middle of this mess,” Drake continued, seemingly unaware of the bile that was threatening to rise up from Damian’s stomach, “and let’s face it, that they don’t have a Batman doesn’t mean that this Justice League is completely useless. They have brains of their own — Mr. Terrific, Kord, Cyborg, hell, I’m pretty sure this Gorgon person is Oracle — and they’ll figure out everything eventually. We can’t risk exposing you right now, not before we have a solid plan.”

He was right. Of course he was right. Drake was always right. Drake had inherited Batman’s strategic sense. And all Damian got was the surname of his daytime mask. Damian was nothing, Damian was —

_No. Bad thought._

They had to get home. This world was messing with Damian’s head.

But what if they couldn’t? What if Damian was stuck in this… this disgusting, _repulsive_ body for the rest of his life?

“Damian?”

Damian’s head snapped up, and he saw Drake looking at him with… something that was not quite concern, but came close to being.

“I was listening,” Damian pouted defensively.

Drake didn’t seem convinced, but he wasn’t dissecting Damian with his eyes either. It was like he was too distracted to delve deeper in the younger boy’s issues like Grayson often did. Perhaps Drake just didn’t care enough about Damian. Damian was Robin after all, not a civilian. He wasn’t Drake’s responsibility.

(But Drake had offered to get him out of the League hadn’t he? He’d been worried at least that much, hadn’t he?)

“We'll find a way home,” Drake declared with assurance, looking straight at Damian. It was almost as if he had read his mind, but another look showed it wasn’t the case. Drake had that unmovable look in his eyes, the very same one he’d had when he left Gotham to search for Bruce. It was the eyes he’d worn when he’d graduated from Robin to Red Robin.

The ones that had lost trust in everyone else, and shut the world out.

He hadn’t had those eyes the last time they’d met, so what had changed since —

Oh. It was probably this damn world again. It wasn’t theirs, but it was too similar for comfort. And here, they didn’t have their masks and reputations to hide behind.

“Tim?”

The foreign voice brought Damian to action, out of sheer habit. He immediately found the darkest corner of the room and slithered there.

“Yeah?” Drake replied once Damian had vanished.

Wonder Woman stepped into the room, in full battle armour. Her hair was messy and her body was covered in dirt, but she didn’t look tired or hurt. 

“Are you alright, sweetie?” She asked. _Sweetie?_ Damian nearly gagged upon hearing that, and then again when the woman reached out to stroke Drake’s cheek. The fact that he was sitting on top of a bunk bed didn’t make her look any smaller.

“I'm fine,” Drake lied.

Wonder Woman sighed as she looked into his bloodshot eyes.

“Hal wants to debrief you about what just happened,” she told him, “what you did was justified self defence, but we still think it best if we watch your back for a few more days. Ra’s is not a forgiving man, you understand?” Drake nodded. “If you’re not feeling well, we can postpone it and—”

“I’ll go,” Drake answered, “just give me a bit of time to dress and wash my face, and I’ll be there.”

Diana smiled fondly.

“The Moires have not been kind to you, Timothy,” she told him, before leaving, “it is admirable that you keep heart. Know that I consider you a son, and that I do not believe there is a prouder parent on Earth than I. Bleed and scar if you must, but never let this world corrupt your rare soul.”

“Thanks, Di,” Drake grinned back. His smile fell right after she left though, and Damian could see him dissociating from this version of Diana Prince. He was closing his heart from his instincts, the very same instincts that jumped off buildings to save strangers from death.

He could see it now. Wonder Woman’s words were meant to be comforting, but to Drake, they were probably anything but. The condolences, the pity — Damian hated those out of pride, Drake probably had his own reason to loathe them even more. If he’d been hearing that kind of spiel for the past hours — for the past few _weeks_ , it was no wonder he was starting to snap.

Damian moved to follow Wonder Woman out when it was clear Drake had nothing left to tell him. He stopped in the doorway, however, and turned one last time.

"Are… Are you really alright?” Damian ventured, fearing he was overstepping his boundaries.

Drake laughed, honest to God _laughed_ , and then replied in the most derisive tone Damian had ever heard, “Are any of us?"

The door closed before Damian could process the rhetorical question. He was too disturbed by that voice, so bitter and frustrated. The elven year old wanted to curse himself. He wanted to be one of them, one of the Bats. He wanted to be a good guy, to make his father and Grayson proud. But how could he when he let his personal vendetta get in the way of helping a — a brother? When he was so focused on the worms under his skin that he’d gone and ignored the ones nibbling at Drake’s?

_Commendable acting_ , Damian scoffed. What a joke. Drake hadn’t been acting at all, had he?

* * *

Tim hadn’t been acting. There was no way he’d tell _Damian_ that, obviously, but he really hadn’t been acting. He almost fell bad for the little brat; he’d picked a terrible time to drop by. Tim had been so preoccupied by his thoughts that he’d completely forgone asking how Damian was, or if the League had done any lasting damage. Sure, he was out, so surely that matter was settled, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

But then he thought of how he had _broken down_ upon seeing Damian’s _fake_ dead body, and he was suddenly completely unapologetic.

It was a fact that being in costume felt like being someone else, and it was a fact that seeing a corpse in or out of costume were two very different things. Normally, he wouldn’t have blinked an eye, but…

Well, seeing the dead body of the only person he could rely on at the moment, impaled by an archaic weapon in his own home, while Tim was wearing civilian clothes and hugged by a kevlar wearing vigilante just came a little too close to home. Granted, he’d planned most of it, but still. It had just hit him all at once, and the image of Damian’s body had kept overlapping with his father’s and — Good God, this world was messing with his head.

And then everyone continued with their sympathy and their slapping ‘treat with care’ labels on Tim and dismissing his words for emotional babble and then he was back in Gotham, crying on rooftops that Bruce was still alive for fuck’s sake and even Dick was scratching the back of his head and calling him insane and —

They really, _really_ had to go home.

Which is why Tim was getting just a little bit annoyed that his freedom had diminished even further. He basically lived at the Watchtower now (“the safest place on Earth,” he’d agreed, looking at the vent Damian had no doubt used to sneak in) and apart from bathroom breaks, he always had someone with him. It was all very irritating, and not at all helpful anyway, as he still ended up being kidnapped by the League of Assassins, four days later.

Good job guys.

Okay, fine. He could understand that Young Justice wasn’t at its peak. Wally had removed his daughter from the team out of concern, the Blue Beetle junior was off planet with Guy Gardner, Catgirl had just vanished (which was completely normal for her, Cassie claimed), Greta was training with Metamorpho for some reason, and Eddie had returned from the hospital with even more bad news ("Black Canary was diagnosed with permanent brain damage; she’ll never return to full capacity. Booster Gold is still in a coma, doctors are unsure if he’ll _ever_ wake up") and two words of his own: “I quit.”

So there he was, chained to an interrogation table after some ninja had chloroformed Zach and tricked Bart into looking at the flying pig in the sky. (It hadn’t actually happened like that, but that’s how it felt.) He could pick the lock - he had hidden a lockpick in the gloves of his uniform - but Talia Al Ghul was right in front of him, watching.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” she read from a file in front of her. She was as beautiful and unreadable as always, with her half lidded eyes and eerily calm demeanour, but Tim couldn’t help but focus on the way her long, sharp nails poked at the paper. There was no one else in the room apart from them, and yet Tim would be a fool to think that made her benign. 

She looked just like she did back in their world, and if she was half as dangerous, Tim had better be very careful.

She hadn’t brought him to her headquarters, and had chosen instead to hijack a police station. That alone was suspicious enough.

“I must say, I’m impressed,” Talia continued, showing no sign of anger, “and quite intrigued as well. You are much more capable than you have led us to believe.”

Tim chose not to answer. He knew the honey in her voice was as sweet as it was treacherous, and that her pacifist attitude was only a means of interrogation. Talia was a powerful opponent, the farthest from a simpleton, and this was chess.

“Oliver Queen is a hunter,” she said, evaluating his silence, “he is patient, and he is silent. But put him in front of danger, and he will curse it deaf. I have no doubts he can be a great a great teacher, but one cannot teach what one hasn’t learnt. So tell me, Red Speedy, where does your calm come from? I would venture Hawke, but you are not waiting. You’re rationalising.”

“You haven’t killed me yet,” Tim pointed out.

Talia leaned backwards, bringing a finger to her chin.

“You know who I am,” Talia mused, “and you know what I can do. I have you trapped where you cannot escape. You are at my mercy. With a snap of my fingers, I could have you dead. You must think I am labouring the point too much, but you must see. I fail to understand how my son has caused you to kill him in panic when _I_ cannot raise your heartbeat a step.”

Ah crap.

“It was dark, and he took me by surprise,” Tim justified himself.

“And you lie with a straight face,” Talia chuckled, “my, you are full of surprise. Had I not evidence to the contrary, I might have bought it.”

“Evidence?” Tim frowned, trying to run through what she could know. There were traces of his plans in various systems, but as far as Tim knew, the League of Assassins did not have a computer expert at hand. They also shouldn’t have had a reason to go dig into it in the first place.

Talia smiled, and it was evident she knew he was flustered by the turn of events.

“I can see how setting Bizarro on Young Justice would profit you,” she told him, “as it did ultimately save your team from my son. How you knew what he was planing, I cannot even imagine, but then again, you do have a lot of unexplained knowledge. Tell me, boy, what did you have to gain from planting those fake rumours about Superboy? I’m guessing you somehow orchestrated his return to the team as well, but to what ends?”

It was a trick question. Denying everything would be useless as long as he remained ignorant of what and how Talia knew, answering meant confessing it was true, and staying silent meant showing he was cornered.

“You can’t kill me,” Tim guessed, turning the game around, “if you could, you would already have. I’ve killed your son, and if that alone was not enough for you to take revenge, the fact that it tarnishes your name is. But you have discipline and training — you’re intelligent,” he narrowed his eyes, “you know keeping me alive is the smartest move, the question is why? Is it my value as a hostage? Do I have knowledge you seek? Or are you afraid of what I could be hiding?”

A spark of irritation flashed across her eyes.

“I can replace him,” Talia dismissed, and Tim was ashamed to find out that he did not know how honest she was being. Talia was by far the most ambiguous of their rogues. Sometimes she was ready to bring her father’s empire to the ground to save her son, and sometimes she plotted to use him as a puppet, as an assembly of spare parts. “What you have, is potential.”

“That is a great risk you’re taking,” Tim pointed out, feeling that their discussion was entering negotiating waters.

“It depends on who you’re playing,” Talia conceded, “I have it on good authority you are not working with Luthor, and you’re certainly not working with us. Normally, I’d think you’re siding with the Justice League, but…”

“But?”

“But you’ve stolen from them, plotted behind their back, and threw them in the line of fire multiple times. I suspect you’ve also planned the murder of my son, and that is not something your peers would condone.”

“There’s something more,” Tim realised upon seeing how smug Talia looked.

“Yes,” the woman smirked, showing her teeth, “yes there is. You see, I know one more thing for certain. I know you’re working with Wayne.”

What?

Tim nearly broke his mask of indifference. There was no way she’d know that — he hadn’t even _tried_ contacting Bruce yet! Or was other Tim the actual traitor? No, that wasn’t possible. But the timing of her reveal, the way she said it, strategically — it meant she really was sure. Which made no sense at all, because Tim had gone through his alter ego’s files and history a dozen of times and he knew other Tim was as naive as his hero name was stupid.

There was only one possibility, and that did _not_ bode well for Tim’s future in this world. Whoever had fed Talia the information on all of his machinations was also taking the opportunity to frame Tim as the traitor in the Justice League. Talia’s informant was protecting the real traitor.

Damn it, this was bad. Real bad.  Before this, the fact that Tim was actually innocent of the crime had given him hope that he could prove it to the others if worse came to worse. If someone planted evidence though, his whole defence fell. He had too many gaps of knowledge of this world to be able to fight it back, especially if his opponent was smart enough to uncover everything to start with.

“It would be tragic is this information were to, _slip_ ,” Talia continued mimicking the action with her hand.

The best lies were always the ones that were partly true, and Tim _had_ set Bizarro and the League of Assassins on Young Justice. He _had_ planned Damian’s murder. Maybe if he’d told the truth about him not being from this world — insanity plea, it wouldn’t work. Tim knew how easy it was too lose all credibility, to shout wolf and have no one care.

“I do not know what you hope to achieve, boy,” Talia concluded, standing up, “but remember this: I know where your allegiances are.”

Blackmail. That was why she had kept him alive. Why kill an enemy when you could control him?

Talia had walked all the way around the table and was now standing right behind Tim, and leaning so her mouth was almost kissing his ear. She placed her hand over his shoulder, barely touching him, but just enough to sent a chill through his body.

“You killed _my son_ ,” she told him with hidden rage, “take one step out of line and I will _not_ hesitate to _destroy_ you.”

She had him. A whole fucking world of knowledge on Talia Al Ghul and she still had him.

And then she disappeared.

Cassie broke through the wall the next second, and immediately rushed to Tim’s side.

“Drugged me,” Tim told her, to explain why he couldn’t move properly, “she went that way,” he added, pointing a door Talia probably hadn’t used.

Cassie nodded and went for the pursuit. Outside, there were more crashes and Tim could guess the rest of the team were fighting Talia’s ninja’s around the police station.

“Robin,” Tim called urgently, reaching for his comm.

Evidently, Damian had been about to call him too.

“I have reached Hayley’s,” he reported, “but Nightwing’s been gone for almost two weeks. He only left a note saying he was leaving on a journey —“

“Cool, but we have a change of priority,” Tim cut in, “you need to sneak into the League of Assassins and find out who’s informing Talia.”

“I have to go back… _there_?” Damian asked, apprehension in his voice.

“Look, I’m sorry about this,” Tim apologised, “but I also know Nightwing and B have trained you long enough that you can sneak in undetected and sneak out again. If we don’t find out who the real traitor in the League is, we’re dead. Literally. Talia is blackmailing me into a wall.”

“Very well,” Damian conceded, oddly cooperative, “but you owe me, Red.”

* * *

A hand grabbed Stephanie’s shoulder to rouse her, and damn wasn’t that hand lucky she wasn’t any other bat. Bruce would have judo its holder into a choke hold, and Damian would have probably shredded its flesh with his claws and fangs. But Steph? Steph just groaned and mourned the absence of morning waffles. She turned her back on the pool of drool she’d left on her pillow to face the offender.

It was that young woman, one of Jason’s minions, with blue hair and piercings. The one who basically had Red Arrow’s name, but not really. Harper Row? Yeah, Harper Row.

“Stephanie,” she whispered.

“What,” Stephanie growled.

“Uhm, it’s about Bruce Wayne.”

Ugh. When was it not about Daddy-Bats?

With a sigh, Stephanie sat up in her bed (well, it wasn’t really a bed, but since she’d spent a few days living in a parking lot Stephanie was willing to be generous). She ran her fingers through her greasy hair in an attempt to flatten it, and then grabbed her quilt to wrap it around her as she jumped from the half opened vents she called a bed.

“It's the morning,” Stephanie complained, “like, the clock says a.m.”

Harper rolled her eyes. “We're the street kids who come crawling out at night,” she pointed out, “you're the college student with morning classes.”

“I have not been accused of being a morning person in a very long time,” Stephanie deadpanned as she found her shoes. The metallic floor was cold. “Bats are nighttime creatures.”

“Bats are, but you’re very human,” Harper replied, oblivious to what Steph had meant, “now move your ass, girl.”

They walked towards the more active part of the hive, and even after ten days, the sight of it still amazed Steph. In this world, the Black Mask had his headquarters in the sewers of Gotham, which he had transformed in a real factory. There was the constant sound of welding and hammering echoing through the metallic walls, and the teenagers running around were just busting with energy. Stairs were going up in every directions, and every floor was animated by a different activity. And all of this was Jason’s.

Before Jason, Black Mask had used child labour to create his empire. Now, Jason was using Black Mask’s empire to get kids a job, food and a place to sleep. The hive was a safe place for them, and Jason never forced them to follow his orders.

“So what’s up with the B-man?” Stephanie asked as they wandered around the maze.

“It might just be me,” Harper answered, “but I’m pretty sure he hasn’t slept in three days. I asked Jay about it, and he told me it’s not his business if the old man dies or lives.”

“He does that a lot,” Stephanie told her.

“Who?” Harper asked, “Jay or Wayne?”

“Both,” Steph shrugged, “and what do you need me for?”

“I was hoping you’d convince him to take a break.”

Stephanie laughed. And then she laughed harder.

“What?” Harper frowned, stopping when Steph’s fit prevented her from walking further, “this is serious! It’s not healthy! He’s gonna collapse, and we don’t exactly have a lot of medicine around. Jay could probably find a way to get some, but he doesn’t seem keen on helping Wayne!”

“What’s funny is that you think I have any power over _Bruce_ ,” Steph calmed down, still giggling a bit.

Harper’s eyebrow rose, “From what I hear, you have power over Wayne _and_ Jay.”

“Excuse me?”

“Some of the little runts told me what happened that night you guys came with the other kids,” Harper elaborated as they resumed walking, “Wayne and Jay were at odds, and you diffused the situation.”

“I didn’t—“ Steph started, “I mean, I did, but it wasn’t really _me_ controlling _them_. It was more like, heat of the moment or something?”

“Look,” Harper simplified, “Jay respects you, and that means you’ve got something.”

“So you’re just going along with anything _Jason Todd_ thinks,” Steph summarised, a bit disturbed. Sure, Jason wasn’t as bad as advertised, but he was still the Red Hood, scourge of the underworld. “Why does his opinion matter so much?”

“You have no idea how bad it was around here, do you?” Harper grimaced, “Typical. See, there was no safe place for street kids. If you didn’t have parents, a roof and enough money, you didn’t have much choice to survive. You either became a toy for Black Mask, or a toy for Red Hood. You got used, abused and killed, and received the strict minimum for it. Jay was one of us — weak, powerless and broken. But he stood up. Over three weeks ago, he snapped and finally killed the bastard. He turned everything around in just a few days. He gave us back control over our own life, and makes sure everyone always has a full stomach. We went from cellmates to a real family. Jason is our saviour, our _inspiration_.”

Stephanie wanted to make a comment about creepy cults, she really did, but then her eyes settled on Bruce, and she realised she wasn’t in a position to make fun of Harper. For all his faults, Bruce had given them a way to stand up. And despite the fact that becoming Batman peeved them, they’d always jump after him into fire.

Oh man, was she comparing _Bruce_ with _Jason_? Who would have thought?

“I’m sorry,” Steph conceded, “I didn’t know, but trust me when I say I think I understand now.”

Surprisingly (really not) Bruce was pouring over a stack of papers. He was in Black Mask’s former office, which had a convenient view on a big part of the hive, and seemed to be putting together plans and drawing designs for new gadgets. He had received more discreet clothes from Jason, a simple black T-shirt and dark brown pants, and seemed to feet in well in the rusty atmosphere of the hive. Jason on the other hand, was still wearing his predecessor’s suit as he glanced over the work Bruce produced with a beer in one hand.

Exactly as she’d left them last night.

“Too expensive,” Jason dismissed once Harper had left, throwing a page away. The floor was covered in discarded ideas. Bruce paused, unamused, and returned to work.

Having to listen to Jason was really getting on his nerves.

“And where do you suppose we’ll find _kryptonite_?” Jason asked, looking at another plan.

“Surely Luthor has some,” Bruce argued without stopping.

“Yes, we’ll just ring at his door an ask, shall we?” Jason deadpanned, “Christ Bruce, we can barely afford ammunition and transport, keep that in mind, will ya?”

“You don’t need ammunition,” Bruce replied, and Jason rolled his eyes.

“Have you guys being doing this for ten days non-stop?” Stephanie asked. She had stayed with them for a few hours each day, especially when they’d been more into discussing their course of action, but Steph had also taken the opportunity to explore the hive and meet with the other children.

They hadn’t been able to send the policemen’s children back home yet, mostly because they weren’t sure how the other crime lords would react to this. They couldn’t risk them taking revenge or reverting to more drastic measure to keep the Gotham police force in line. So Steph had taken it upon herself to make sure they integrated the hive smoothly for now, and so far, they’d been welcomed with open arms.

“Nah,” Jason answered, “I woke up two hours ago.”

“I took a break as well,” Bruce huffed (not by actual huffing but it was what the slight inflexion in his voice usually meant).

“By which you mean you dropped your pen for four hours while you did a few push ups?” Stephanie guessed.

Bruce grunted in response.

“And _I’m_ the reckless, irresponsible one,” Jason smirked.

“Hey!” Stephanie grinned, “That’s what they call me too!”

Between babysitting and serious planing, Stephanie hadn’t had much time to talk to Jason. They’d exchanged a few words throughout the days though, and their conversation was surprisingly amicable. In fact, Stephanie found Jason much easier to talk to than the other bats, maybe because of how similar they were.

They both had shitty dads, a past in the streets, a history of running away from home and a strained relationship with Bruce. And they’d both died - well, Steph hadn’t actually _died_ , but it had certainly felt like it. They were both the imperfect Bats, and Jason was the only one that didn’t make her feel the need to prove herself constantly. They were the emotional ones, the human ones, the ones who could be angry and act on it.

Jason raised his hand and Steph high-fived him, both very aware of how it was irritating Bruce. He hated when they rubbed the whole black sheep of the family thing in his face, or when they reminded him of how unfair he’d been towards them.

Jason also refused to elaborate on how exactly he knew Cass, but he mentioned her whenever he could, just because it was driving Bruce mad.

“You know,” Jason said conversationally, “I never got to congratulate you on beating my record for shortest career as Robin.”

“Aw,” Stephanie cooed, taking a seat at the table, “you don’t have to. All the credit goes to B.”

Okay, that was a low blow, but Steph had a lot of unresolved issues. And yes, maybe a part of her was still holding a grudge against Bruce. And mostly, it wasn’t everyday one got to relentlessly tease the Batman. It wasn’t everyday that he was just a man.

“So you didn’t systematically stupidly go against orders and almost got yourself killed?” Jason quoted from his own usual description, interested, “because you weren’t Dickiebird but you were twice as impulsive?"

“Oh no, that I did,” Stephanie nodded, “ _once_. But I did almost destroy Gotham after I was fired. I mean, I’m sure my death wasn’t nearly as dramatic as yours as I doubt I was ever really part of the, you know, _family_ , but, hey, I might give you a run for your money.”

“There were explosions?” 

“Lots.”

“Crowbars?”

“Torture.”

It was strange talking about her worst night with so much detachment. However, for the first time since it had happened, Stephanie wasn’t ashamed of it. They’d called it a mistake, they’d blame it all on her, and even she had come to hate herself for it — but all she’d been was human. Jason had made mistakes too, and maybe they’d both really needed to talk about it with someone.

“Of course, _my_ uniform never got displayed in the cave,” Stephanie continued.

“Shit,” Jason sympathised, “it _is_ tragic that he didn’t think of you more in your fucking death than when you were alive.”

“He didn’t need to think of me when I was dead,” Steph shrugged, “he had Tim, his real Robin.”

Slam!

Steph and Jason both jolted in their seats as Bruce abruptly stood up, knocking his chair backwards at the same time. He glared at them icily, a glare that reminded them just how easily Batman could kill if he wished to. Then, he stormed off without a word.

And suddenly, all the adrenaline, the courage and confidence that had Stephanie poke at the dragon was gone. Maybe Jason just had that affect on people; to agitate them, to make them lash out. Or maybe Stephanie had simply found strength in numbers, and had gotten carried away in her excitement.

Either way, Stephanie’s ire had melted away for guilt.

“Too far?” she asked Jason.

“He'll be fine,” Jason dismissed, picking up another sheet from Bruce’s pile, “leave him be. He likes being alone.”

A pause.

Jason's eyes briefly made a stop on Stephanie's face, and the girl was suddenly aware he was assessing her, challenging her. He made it clear he'd mock her if she was so desperate to get Bruce's affection that she'd disown her previous actions. Jason wanted her to stand by her words.

And that was what made them different. Even now Jason wanted to win against Bruce. He had too much pride to be the first to bow. Stephanie had gotten over it. Yes, she wanted to one up Bruce, to prove him wrong, to get a reaction from that wall of a human being — but not if it meant hurting him truly. Not if it meant destroying the very hope of ever reconciling with him. There were days where she hated Bruce, but the next she’d often remember how Bruce had quipped with her, how he had patiently taught her to use a microscope, how he had been there to catch her when she’d mess up a jump from a skyscraper.

Were it not for Bruce, Stephanie would never had had the opportunity to fly, much less on her own. Were it not for the Bat of Gotham, no one would never even have thought it _possible_. He wasn’t Superman. Batman didn’t give people hope that fate could be kind. What Bruce did was teach people to throw a punch, so they could decide their own. 

Stephanie wasn't scared to admit when she'd fuck up.

“I don’t know for you,” she said after a few seconds, “but those few months I had as Robin were the best days of my life. Sure, Bruce is a little bit extra all the time but... Aren't we all?”

Bruce was a mess as a person. He was distant, and prideful, but everyone who wore his symbol knew better than to think he was just a gigantic ass. There was something magical about being under his cape.

Jason’s head lifted as Stephanie stood up as well, moving to follow Bruce. So what if she'd disappoint Jason? She disappointed everyone anyway. It had taken her a long time after her death to realise that the only person she had a duty to make proud was herself.

“ _He_ gave me those days,” she told him pointedly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's the traitor? How are Tim and Dami going to get out of this one? Where's Cass? And what the hell has Dick been up to so far?
> 
> Next up: Jason should probably have followed Steph, because now there's blood everywhere and everything is a mess and it isn't even Bruce's fault, Zachary Zatara is pissed, very pissed, and Cassie is stressed, very stressed. As for Tim? Well, he's so deep in horse shit we can barely see his fingers grasping at air anymore.


	9. Shots, punches and doorbells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because leaving dead bodies everywhere is a bit careless, and one should think twice before bringing bad news to a demigod having a nervous breakdown. Also, is Catgirl... participating in the plot? Gasp!

_He gave me those days._

Jason set Stephanie’s words aside as he continued combing through Bruce’s ideas. It was easy to forget behind his infuriating attitude and inhuman skills that Bruce was before all one of the smartest men on Earth. Jason had dismissed many ideas due to costs and resources, but it was obvious Bruce had calculated everything by skimming off the ammunitions budget. With these plans, they could build a small, functional hideout that would be near impossible to find in record time.

And its location would be…

It was written in Bruce’s handwriting, like everything else. There wasn’t a slight intonation in his scripture, or any sign to show he’d rushed or drawn out the word.

The Batcave. 

There was a detailed analysis of the place, that let Jason know Bruce had been there himself. He wasn’t stupid, he knew one of the first things Bruce would have looked up coming to this world would have been his parents. It was a well known fact that Batman wouldn’t be Batman without that tragedy, so how was the fact that they were still alive affecting Bruce? He’d been to the Cave, there was no way he hadn’t checked out the Manor as well.

Ah, to hell with it. It was none of his business anyway.

_Being Robin gives me magic!_

None.

The new Batgirl could call it what she wanted, they were only in a temporary truce in the face of hostile conditions. As soon as they’d be back, Jason would return to being a just another miserable criminal in the Bat-files.

“Jay!” Harper cried, bursting into the office, “Jay! Hurry!”

Jason looked up, about to ask what Steph had done this time, only to freeze at the sight of his second in command.

Harper was covered in blood, but not in hers. It was clear from the way it was smudged all over her torso and her laps, and the fact that she looked more panicked than in agony. Fucking Christ, he focused on work for ten fucking minutes and there was already bloody murder!

“What happened?” Jason barked as he grabbed his mask and ran out of the office after her.

“It's Elliot's men!” Harper explained frantically as they jumped over railings and flew down stairs. All the other children were moving as well, towards their predetermined position or a safe room. The hive could become a real fortress once breached, but all its soldiers were only children. Even now, there was no one running towards the fight except for Jason and Harper. It was like swimming against a raging current. Thankfully, most kids parted way to let them through, but there was some unfortunate shoving involved at times.

As they got deeper underground, the number of kids diminished, and Jason started hearing the sounds of a gunfight which had been buried under the hive’s usual beat.

Elliot’s men hadn’t faced the real Red Hood yet.

“They found Black Mask’s body in the abandoned building,” Harper reported, “they were coming for you, but they saw Stephanie and Wayne when they burst in!”

“Shit,” Jason swore, already loading his guns.

“Duke and Q are evacuating the policemen’s children,” she continued, “but Wayne…”

Harper vaguely gestured at the blood all over her, trembling slightly.

“Got shot,” Jason deduced as he jumped from a pipe.

“He jumped in front of the initial line of fire,” Harper confirmed, obviously worried, “they took us by surprised, exploded the West storage room’s wall. The others couldn’t get out of the way in time, so Wayne just… He didn’t even hesitate.”

“He does that,” Jason grumbled, “how many shots?”

“Three?” Harper guessed.

Three. Three was good. The Batman could take three. Anyone else would be dead, but Bruce didn’t die. That jackass didn’t know how to.

“He'll survive.”

“Three _bullets_ ,” Harper insisted, “he needs a hospital.”

“He'll be dead the second he steps into one,” Jason reminded her, “the Justice League will catch him.”

“But he’s a good guy!” Harper scoffed, “Surely the Justice League will — I mean, he’s not the evil moron everyone makes him out to be! He didn’t actually kill the JSA, did he?”

Jason sent her a look that closed that line of questioning. Bruce wasn’t the culprit, but his alter ego was, and Jason wasn’t going to help prove that bastard’s innocence.

It was a good thing Elliot’s men seemed to be your average henchmen in Gotham, because when Jason got there, Stephanie was fighting them alone. She had managed to place Bruce in a safe corner, protected by columns and the wood reserve. Bruce, the madman, was trying to stitch himself up, using a mix of staplers, fire, and ripped bedsheets. And they said _Jason_ was insane.

“No killing,” Bruce growled out the second he noticed Jason and Harper.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Jason deadpanned. Even bleeding to death, the Batman was _still_ on Jason’s case.

Jason ducked next to Bruce, pulling Harper down as well.

Duke had already dragged all the other children in the vicinity away. However, Elliot hadn’t been to cheap with his man power. A few dozen slightly luxurious street thugs were muscling their way into the storage room from the hole they had blown up in the wall.

Stephanie was doing a pretty good job holding them back. The layout of the room and the narrow radius of their explosives gave her the strategic advantage. She knew where they were coming from, and it was all from the same place. The girl had picked up a broom somewhere, and Jason had a feeling that the five of crooks that were down were never going to see the cleaning utensil the same way again.

“Holy crap,” Harper gasped as Stephanie swept low and tripped three henchmen, “where did she learn to do that?”

The new Batgirl was only a temporary measure, though. She could hold the invasion back, but she could not stop it. She was good, yes, but she was _Robin_ good, and they needed Cass good.

“They’re… after us,” Bruce managed to say, but his voice was starting to sound weak, “we can… lure them… away.”

“Give time for everyone else to move out,” Jason nodded. He gazed at the mask in his hand, tracing the edges of the eyes. He felt reluctant to let it go. Sure, Black Mask wasn’t exactly a good name, not after all the shit the jerk had pulled. However, while the past weeks had been taxing for Jason, they were no less rewarding. He’d built an empire of his own, the safe haven he had always needed when he was a child, and it was hard to part with his work.

On the other hand, Stephanie alone could not carry Bruce and escape. He had to choose.

“Go with them,” Harper told him, pulling him slightly away from Bruce so he couldn’t hear them. She was starting to get over her initial panic, which was pretty impressive for an eighteen year old who didn’t spend her nights in tights and cape.

“Harper…”

“Clearly there’s a lot happening that I don’t know about,” Harper insisted, “but Wayne saved many of my brothers and sisters, and he doesn’t deserve to die here. He needs you more than us. We — We can survive. Go into hiding. Defend ourselves if need be.”

“Bruce has had worse,” Jason argued.

“Stop running away from him, Jay!” Harper hissed urgently, “You’re acting like a thirteen year old wearing teenage rebellion loud and proud! I don’t know what Wayne is to you, but obviously he’s important. It could be good important. It could be bad important. It doesn’t matter. I don't care. You’re both going to need to be alive to figure out which. We, can, deal. _Go_.”

Jason hesitated a bit, before sighing.

“Here,” he said, handing her the mask in his hands, “you're going to need it.”

Harper nodded solemnly, grabbing the mask before tightening it around her face. She turned around and bolted away to rejoin the rest of the hive, and to help with moving out.

“BG!” Jason called out.

“Yeah?"

“Ten seconds! B,” Jason turned to Bruce who grunted in response, “We're going to lift you up. Don’t pass out.”

Jason aimed for the lights, and shot every lightbulb in the room, leaving it completely dark. The thugs let out confused shouts, and shooting at each other in confusion.

Ten seconds later, Jason heard Steph’s breath next to them.

“Can you walk, Bruce?” She asked.

“Don't waste your fucking time asking, he won’t say no,” Jason told her, “grab one of his arm.”

“Where do we take him?” Stephanie asked as they shuffled away, leaving a trail of blood to ensure Elliot’s men would follow them and not Harper. They’d lose them once they were far enough — Bruce had taught them a dozen different ways to do so. “Leslie’s?"

“She doesn’t have a clinic in Gotham,” Jason replied, “I don’t even know if she lives here, or if she lives at all.”

“Shit,” Stephanie swore, “we can’t go to a hospital; where else are we going to find a doc — _oh_.”

“'Oh' I have a brilliant idea,” Jason asked impatiently, “or ‘oh' this is so going to get us killed."

“'Oh' there is one other doctor… who _might_ help us,” Stephanie grimaced, clearly uncomfortable with her own plan.

* * *

Oh, she had messed up so badly. Cassandra was supposed to be the leader of Young Justice and yet she’d let the one member who was under constant supervision get kidnapped right under her nose. The computer nerds had warned her that the League of Assassins would come after him, the Justice League had given her the job to protect Tim when he wasn’t around Green Arrow. And Cassie had surveilled Tim closely. To the point where she was hounding him. 24/7. 

She'd thought she was doing a good job. That looking the other way for five minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Evidently, five minutes was all Talia Al Ghul had needed.

It had been a stupid mistake.

But she’d needed to know. She’d needed to ask herself, to confirm that Tim was fine.

**...**

_“Kon!” Cassie called._

_The young clone of Superman turned his head quickly, as if he had only heard her just now. It wasn’t the case, of course, Kon had heard Cassie coming from miles away, but his two years break had clearly installed some basic reflexes into him. Reflexes that made him seem more human._

_She remembered when he’d randomly turned up at Young Justice, only a few days before the League had attacked. They’d all heard the bell rang, and then there he was, at the door, after two years of recluse. He hadn’t even texted Cassie to warn her. Of course, Cassie knew him well enough to see the nervousness behind his smug ‘Surprise?’ — he was slightly out of touch, and unsure whether he was welcomed._

_But he’d been welcomed. Everyone had understood the blame Kon had placed upon himself, but no one had agreed with it in the first place. So everyone had greeted him with a bear crushing hug and he’d laughed so hard he had almost cried._

_He never did tell them what had changed his mind, but Cassie wasn’t an idiot. It was Tim. It could only have been Tim._

_“Shouldn't you be watching Tim?” Kon asked, mildly alarmed. His eyes turned sideways, X-raying the wall behind which Tim was, and then he relaxed, giving Cassie back his full attention. The Young Justice mansion was small enough that Cassie could react quickly if anything happened to him._

_“Zach and Bart are with him,” she told him, “I needed to talk to you.”_

_“Sure, what’s up?”_

_“Do you think Tim…” she started, “do you think Tim might be… not okay?”_

_Kon was slightly surprised at her timing, but clearly not at the question. He sighed, and rubbed the back of his head as if he’d been trying to solve that puzzle for years._

_“Tim's been through a lot this past month,” Kon answered, “and it clearly… changed him. But, if you’re asking whether we should be worried, well…”_

_“He's lost his father, and has a bunch of unresolved issues with him,” Cassie reminded him, “and his almost girlfriend died with the rest of the JSA. He accidentally killed someone, and now the whole League of Assassins is after him. And we weren’t exactly good friends to him, recently. But he’s acting fine, like his world hasn’t ended multiple times in the past month.”_

_“Cassie—“_

_“Diana thinks he’s in denial, big time,” she continued, “and I’ve been warned that he may act recklessly —”_

_“Cassie —“_

_“And now that I think of it, he already did,” Cassie frowned, “he shouldn’t have followed us going after Leviathan. He’s not the type to give a Justice Leaguer a piece of his mind. And he actually went to see you!”_

_“Cassie, it’s fine —“_

_“No, it’s not!” It was only at this point that Cassandra realised how worked up she had gotten. She was breathing hard, and her heart was beating fast. Kon seemed a bit wary of her behaviour, but he was more concerned than anything else._

_“It's not alright,” Cassie whispered between gritted teeth, “I’m scared we’re losing him. I’m scared we’re losing Tim.”_

_Kon placed an arm around her shoulder and squeezed it gently._

_“Tim is stronger than you think,” he told her with a sincere smile, “seriously.”_

_“But he’s…” Cassie bit her lips._

_“Human?” Kon finished, and Cassie felt her cheeks blushed in shame. She hated that thought so much, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from having it. “It's easy to worry for him, especially after you had to watch me tear him apart.”_

_“Kon, it’s not your—“ Cassie immediately cut in._

_“Let me finish. That day changed us, all of us. It made me a recluse, you an overprotective friend, and consequently, it made Tim withdraw. Tim is finally putting himself out there again, and I’m finally getting over my pathetic self-pity. Maybe it’s simply time you try to let go of that crippling fear of yours as well.”_

_“It's not that easy,” Cassie admitted, “I can’t just, not worry about Tim.”_

_Kon rolled his eyes, “Of course it’s not easy,” he huffed, “but, like, do you even hear yourself? You sound exactly like the Justice League when they used to confine us to the mansion for dangerous missions. It’s not about not worrying, it’s about swallowing your fear and letting Tim fight for what he wants. We owe him that much after babying him for two years.”_

_Cassie closed her eyes in frustration. She knew he was right… but — but what? She sighed, they never covered these situation in super-wikihow (another brilliant idea by Ted Kord). It was always about saving lives and sacrificing your own for other’s freedom; nothing about having the right to take away one’s freedom for one's life. Letting Tim go knowing there was a big chance it would get him killed went against all that she had ever been told._

'We risk death every time we put them on, and it’s a choice we’ve all already made years ago. We’re not asking to stop worrying, we’re asking you to respect our decisions. Yes, we may die. But honestly? I’d rather live a short meaningful life than a long happy one,' _Tim had said to Hal._

_“Tim's changed,” Kon continued wistfully, “we all did. We’ve been through some tough crap, and we've all come out the other side a bit worn. But, that’s growing up, I guess. We were never going to stay kids forever. Look — I’m not saying Tim’s fine, I’m just saying he’s tough enough to take it, and that we have to believe in him as he believes in us.”_

_Cassie hadn’t seen Kon believe in anything as strongly as he was believing in Tim now during the past two years. There was a spark of confidence in his eyes as he backed his opinion, and Cassie was thrown back to all his subdued texts, that were full of ‘of course, it’s just my personal taste’ and ‘I'm not sure but I think’ and ‘don't take my word for it, but.’ It had been as if he couldn’t even trust his own mind anymore, as if he hadn’t been able to tell how much of him was Luthor. But looking at him now, Kon was owning up to his words and his actions. He was taking his life back._

_“What did Tim tell you to convince you to come back?” Cassie asked him._

_Kon chuckled, “it wasn’t so much what he said,” he explained fondly, as if sharing an inside joke, “it was more how he reminded me a bit about humility.”_

_“Oh Hera, what did he do?” Cassie questioned apprehensively._

_“He dared me to break his arm,” Kon replied blankly._

_“Tell me you didn’t—“_

_“And then he beat the crap out of me.”_

_“What.”_

_“He had some Kryptonite,” Kon allowed, “but still, it was a much needed wake up call. He’s the only who didn’t tip toe around me, who just called me out on my shit instead of nursing my self inflicted wounds.”_

_“I'm sorry,” Cassie deadpanned, “and you want to tell me he’s_ not _being reckless?”_

_Kon laughed, “I didn’t stand a chance against him, Cassie. You should have seen it! He’s always been the smart, resourceful one.”_

_“Where did he even get Kryptonite?”_

_Kon shrugged, “Heck if I know. But what I do know for sure, is that if it wasn’t for Tim, I’d still be moping around the farm contemplating my miserable existence and feeling sick at the very thought of who I am.”_

**...**

And then they’d walk into the next room to find Bart and Zach passed out, and Tim nowhere to be seen. And then she had panicked. And then Zach had woken up, And then Zach had managed to track Tim through some voodoo magic or something. And then they’d found Tim drugged in a police station. And then she’d pursued Talia Al Ghul instead of tending to Tim, And then she’d panicked again.

And then Tim had squeezed her hand in the jet back to the mansion, when she was supposed to squeeze his while he groggily recovering from his kidnapping.

He had had this strangely amused look in his eyes, as if he knew something Cassie wasn’t privy to.

But now they were back at the Mansion, and Green Arrow was going all mother hen on Tim. Cassie estimated she had about two hours before the worry washed away and Green Arrow turned around to chew her out. How far out of the country could she get in that time? Norway maybe?

She’d chosen to eclipse herself from everyone else. They were all in their little bubble of relief and confusion and adrenaline withdrawal, and Cassie knew that she didn’t belong in there. This past month had been hell on all of them, what with the JSA and Leviathan, and it had only gotten worst thanks to her. Watching over Tim had been her job, her _responsibility_.

So there she was, in an empty guest room on the top floor. She had curled up in a corner, keeping the lights off. The day was slowly dying off, leaving a blazing sky in its wake. It projected a red light into the room.

Maybe Kon was wrong. Tim had only gotten kidnapped because she’d relaxed her guard around him for five minutes, just to have a chat. She was the leader of a team, she couldn’t afford to resort to faith. Artemis had always taught her that generals had to be in control of the situation, that they weren’t in charge of their soldiers’ happiness but of their survival.

"You knew.”

The accusatory tone of the voice shocked her less that its owner.

Zach was standing in the doorframe, in his usual costume that resembled a waiter in a five star restaurant. There was a bandage around his head where he’d hit the ground falling down, but he was otherwise fine. Well, other than the fact that his eyes looked downright murderous.

He’d almost completely disappeared after the scuffle at the police station. He was trailing behind them, and Cassie had just assumed his self esteem had taken a hit at being rendered unconscious so easily.

“Look, I know I messed up,” Cassie snapped. She couldn’t deal with Zach’s ego right now. “But we _all_ knew the League was coming for Tim.”

“Not _that_ ,” Zach scowled, taking steps closer to where Cassie was sitting on the ground, “you were watching Tim the whole day, from a distance. You expected him to _do_ something.”

“And what’s your point?” Cassie asked, slightly confused but retaining enough dignified offence in her voice, “He was _kidnapped_.”

“If I find out you’re protecting him,” Zach growled back, “despite what he did—“

“And what _exactly_ did he do?” 

Cassie’s exasperation must have been evident, because Zach recoiled a bit, frowning. He looked at her up and down, as if reassessing his earlier assumptions.

“I planted a spell on Tim,” Zach explained dismissively, “to follow him.”

Cassie frowned, “You mean you had him bugged _before_ he was kidnapped.”

“What?” Zach snarled, “You thought I could magic anyone's location just like that?”

And then it all clicked.

That son of a bitch.

“There’s no way they took you down this easily; you _let_ them kidnap Tim!” Cassie accused, abruptly standing up and - _bang!_ \- nailing Zach to a wall, “You used him as _bait_!”

To his credit, Zach only winced a little bit in pain.

“Zatanna was _killed_ ,” he spat, “and I am not resting until I found the sick bastard who did it. The Al Ghuls are some of the best connected criminals in the world, I knew they must have had a lead!”

“So you risked Tim’s _life_?” Cassie questioned him incredulously, “they could have _killed_ him!”

“I would have saved him if he was in danger!” Zach argued, “The bug let me listen in on what was happening.”

“Would you have?”

“Well, not _anymore_ ,” Zach sneered, “I _did_ find out something, you know, about the JSA massacre.”

Cassie’s narrowed her eyes.

“Tim’s life isn’t worth shit. _He’s_ the one who set Bizarro on us, and _he’s_ the one who brought the League of Assassins to our door. He probably even premeditated Leviathan’s death.”

Zach’s words had weight, and his anger was real. Zach was a magician by trade, and thus an expert at deceit. But Cassandra was Wonder Girl, and that meant she had a special affinity with truth. For all her mind hated it, her heart actually believed Zach.

Maybe it was because Zach looked just as hurt as she was. Zach was an egotistical, arrogant prick, but he was and had always been one of their oldest friends. They had founded Young Justice together, and that kind of bond didn’t just melt away. He was used to being an outcast due to his personality, and yet Tim, Cassie, Kon, Bart and Greta had accepted him without question, just like he had accepted them in his hardened heart in return.

But Zatanna was _family_ to him. She was the one who’s protected him from Giovani Zatara. She was the one who had grabbed him from his miserable, abusive home life and taken him on a lifelong adventure.

And he believed Tim had a hand in her death.

Which was why Zach was so angry, and he had every right to be.

“He — He wouldn’t —“ Cassie stammered, feeling her brain disconnect. It was all too much.

“He did. Tim’s working with Bruce Wayne.”

Cassie punched Zach in the face.

 

* * *

George had been doing this work for years, and yet he still hated being alone on night shift. Of course, he wasn’t actually alone. Belle-Reve was crawling with security guards and hired metahumans — Waller would never have let it been otherwise. However, sitting in the observatory chamber of this solitary cell, George felt utterly alone against the criminal he was watching. The criminal in question was sitting in the middle of a large, empty cell, chained to her neck. The window separated them was only one-sided, but there were moments where George swore she looked straight at him.

They called her Nemesis, after the greek goddess of revenge and justice. It was strange though, because she wasn’t greek, and she certainly wasn’t a goddess. No, Nemesis was very human, and she was downright feral on good days.

She had a genocide to her name, and George was supposed to take her on if she ever escaped.

The woman stirred, and George tensed. She often fought against her chains, roaring savagely to no one. She did it for fun, he thought. She either liked the struggle, or she knew exactly how much it freaked out her captor. She liked yelling out threats too, with her wide, hungry smile.

Nemesis’s eyes opened slowly, almost gently. The chains jingled, and suddenly the woman snapped awake, starring wide eye at her cuffs.

“Wha—“ she stammered, frowning, looking almost sane. For a while, she looked around aghast, gauging the walls surrounding her. Was she planing an escape? George put his finger on the alarm, just in case. One wrong move and it would blare full volume throughout the facility. He controlled his breath.

Her line of sight stopped at the mirror. Her eyes narrowed.

“I can recognise a one sided mirror when I see one,” she growled, “where am I? Who are you? What do you want with me?”

No prisoner in solitary cells like hers were to be told where they were. It was protocol to make escapes harder, so that the criminals couldn’t anticipate the isolation of Belle-Reve penitentiary.

However, Nemesis looked genuinely frustrated and confused, which was suspicious in itself. She’d been in that cell for over a year now.

It wouldn’t be the first they’d had a double personality disorder case in here. Nor a possession case. Nor a complete mental breakdown. George just wasn’t sure he was prepared to face it with her.

“Answer me, or I will make sure you regret it,” she threatened icily. 

George could’t reply, and Nemesis bristled at the lack of response.

“And if that’s not enough, know that my friends will come looking for me,” she continued, a confident glare in her eyes, “trust me, you don’t want that. They’re a scary bunch.”

Friends? Nemesis had… accomplices? This was terrible news. They’d always assumed she worked alone; she had shown no sign of it being wrong. Wait, no. Nemesis wasn’t an idiot. She wouldn’t slip up like that. Maybe she wanted George to think she had friends. Maybe this was all a ploy to get out.

“Show yourself!” She demanded, stretching her chains until they were pulling on their nails.

George jumped in his seat, despite himself. His mind knew she was harmless like that, but still.

“Is it safe?”

“SHIT!” George swore, this time really falling from his chair.

There was someone else in the observation room, someone he hadn’t even heard come in. She was either a teenager or a small woman, but George couldn’t see her face with all that black leather covering it up.

Both her hands were up, though, in a gesture of peace.

Wait, George knew her. She was one of those Young Justice capes, Catgirl! How the Hell had she gotten in here? And why was she here? Did she, perhaps, have an explanation for Nemesis’s behaviour?

“Is she safe to approach?” Catgirl asked again, pointing towards Nemesis without looking away from George.

“Er… Yeah,” George answered warily, “All her cuffs have different keys which are distributed between the heads of each section, there’s a paralytic gas dispenser in the ceiling of this cell, and she has a tracker implanted in her arm, which we can diffuse short electric charges through.”

“Great,” Catgirl nodded, giving him a pat on the chest and a thumbs up, “Good job, soldier.”

“I'm not technically a soldier,” George corrected sheepishly, “and I wasn’t the one who — Wait, you can’t go in there without an authorisation from Waller.”

“But I’m a superhero,” Catgirl argued, “I like, save the world and stuff.”

“First of all, I can’t be sure you are who you say you are,” George told her seriously, “and secondly —“

Gatgirl froze.

“Wha — What is _that_?” she asked, horror filling her voice. She was pointing over George’s shoulder.

Out of reflex, George grabbed his gun and spun around — but there was nothing. 

George blinked.

“What was what?” He asked, facing Catgirl once more only to realise she wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t even in the observation room. Where…?

Oh God. George was never going to live this down. He had fallen for the dumbest trick in the book, hadn’t he? She was in the cell. With Nemesis. Talking to her in low tones.

What the — _How the Hell?_

She couldn’t access the cell directly from the observation room, and it definitely took more than five minutes to go to one from the other due to all the security measures. Was Catgirl some kind of speedster? No one knew much about her.

George switched on the intercom, pushing aside all his questions.

“Catgirl,” he warned, “get out of there _right now_ or I call the guards.”

Catgirl saluted him.

“Sure thing, soldier!” She chirped.

George blinked, and then he saw a fist, and then it was all black.

…

When George awoke a few minutes later, both Catgirl and Nemesis were gone.

* * *

It was eleven in the evening, and there was a storm raging outside. Hence, he wasn’t expecting anyone to show up at the door. However, the bell had rung, and he’d been the closest and not doing anything particularly engaging, so he went up to check on the unexpected visitor.

He swung the big front door open, and had to look down to get a good view of his guest — or guests.

They were in a downright pitiful state, soaked in rain and clothes covered in dirt. Two of them were only children compared to his old age, young adults.

On the left, there was a young woman with blond hair and clear blue eyes. She was dressed in a shirt much too large for her, and ripped leggings. On the right, it was a young man with black hair, darker blue eyes, and who was dressed like a flashy business man who’d just been rescued from the jungle.

Both were clinging to the man in the middle, one of his arms over one of their shoulders each. A pool of blood was growing under his feet, dripping from the hasty field dressing around his abdomen. Him, Thomas recognised.

“He needs your help, Dr. Wayne,” the girl pleaded, “ _please_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next (or Next up, idk, I keep switching): The Waynes must decide what to do with Bruce. He is their son, but he's also an unforgivable criminal. Is blood strong enough of a bond to win over morals? Bruce has a similar choice to make, whether or not he will trust them. But honestly, Bruce doesn't care. Bruce is high. and Alfred, well, Alfred always is the most loyal and no alternate dimension could change that... It it to who he is loyal to that must be determined.


	10. Renegade children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman rarely opens up, and for once, he does. As it turns out, the thoughts of a man running around in tights dressed like a giant bat are disturbing. Shocking. Meanwhile, the Internal Affairs investigation team must come to terms with the fact that Tim Drake, Red Speedy and one of their closest friend, is most certainly a traitor.

All the other Robins had called the Manor their home at one point, but never Stephanie. She had met Batman and Robin long before she’d been introduced to Bruce and Tim, and even then she’d roam around the cave much more than the dollhouse that sat atop of it. In her mind, she knew that the Manor had a long History and that a lot of the items in there had some kind of meaning, and yet she couldn’t help but feel it was nothing but a facade for Bruce. It was what he wanted to show to the world: wealth, nobility, shiny lights — and Stephanie was everything he wanted to hide from it. It always seemed as though she wasn’t meant to be up there, like if she was seen amongst the chandeliers and the portraits she’d taint everything.

Well, at least Jason was just as awkward being there as she was. The Manor wasn’t a place he was welcomed in anymore. He might have been one of its children once, but now he was an outcast and a stranger.

It had been two days since they had dragged Bruce through the city. Dr. Wayne had immediately responded to the sight of an emergency, but that was not to say things had been smooth. Bruce’s parents had been completely shaken upon seeing Bruce, and Stephanie wasn’t sure it was because of all the blood. She knew Bruce and his parents had a pretty shitty relationship in this world, ironically.

Martha Wayne had tried engaging them in conversation once, but between dodging the topic of her son and trying to remain polite, she hadn’t managed to ask more than their names. Instead, the two Waynes gave Stephanie and Jason a wide breadth, and settled for talking about them in hushed tones. They were afraid, and while Steph was just about sure they wouldn’t let Bruce die, they were certainly considering turning him in.

She’d never pictured the Waynes being so… mediocrely normal. It made sense that they’d be wary — this Bruce was a criminal. But, well, she'd expected more from them. They were the Batman’s parents, they were supposed to be strong and have an unshakable heart.

“Have you ever heard of Stendhal’s crystallisation?” Jason had asked her when she’d told him that, “It's literally when distance makes the heart grows fonder. It’s when memories alter with time, and all that’s left is a false, perfect picture one falls in love with. All you know about Martha and Thomas Wayne is what B told you, and B doesn’t remember shit about them. Hear him talk and his parents were perfect angels, incapable of sin, but let’s be real, he was _eight_ when they died. Alfred would never break his fantasy out of some misguided sense of pity, but they were human. They were so very human. What you’ve heard is only the twisted memories of a grieving child.”

Jason actually knew a lot about art and culture. Jason was actually kind of a nerd. A nerd with a lot of explosive emotional trauma and who could kill you with his thumbs, sure, but a nerd nonetheless. They didn’t really have much to do but talk to each other.

There was always the Bat-approved option of sneaking around, but they were trying not to be more suspicious than they already were, what with being two complete strangers and showing up at their door in the middle of the night with their dying criminal of a son in their arms.

And then there was Alfred. Alfred who gave them the stink eye whenever they breathed in his direction. He looked just like he did when he guarded the cave with a shotgun, only this time there was no shotgun and he was directing all his ire towards the two street ruffians. They could hear him trying to talk his masters into turning Bruce in. They could feel him watching them from the shadows.

He just wanted to protect them, and no one messed with an overprotective Alfred.

So there they were, sitting in a living room with glasses of water (neither of them had dared ask Alfred for anything else) distinctively _not_ welcome in a place that already had them feel like intruders. They’d been loaned the cheapest clothes that could be found in the Manor, and while they had been offered a guest room, Stephanie and Jason had both opted for sleeping at Bruce’s bedside. Anywhere else just felt too hostile.

‘ _Two nights ago at Belle-Reve_ ,’ the television was saying, ‘ _the teen superhero Catgirl of Young Justice is said to be an accomplice, but we’ve received no comments from the superhero community. The escapee, widely known as Nemesis, is charged with blowing up Iron Heights and Blackgate, effectively killing all the inmates. She was caught by Firestorm last year —_ ’

“Whoa,” Stephanie gaped upon seeing Nemesis’s mugshot, “looks like Bruce isn’t the only one with a psycho counterpart.”

“You know her?” Jason asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Huh? Of course I know—” Stephanie started, “Oh yeah, _you_ wouldn’t. Back home, she’s part of the—”

“He’s awake.”

Stephanie and Jason turned to see Thomas Wayne standing in the doorway, latex blue gloves still on his hands. He was a tall man; not as tall as Bruce, but quite close to Jason’s height. Their was a distinct air of family between Dr. Wayne and Bruce, but Dr. Wayne’s face was warmer, less angular, and his brown eyes didn’t have that piercing quality that Bruce had to dim when he was playing the bumbling idiot.

Everything about him, from his khaki loafers to his moustache, passing by the hesitant tone in his voice, screamed ‘civilian.’

“How is he?” Stephanie asked automatically, jumping out of her seat eagerly. They’d been waiting in a mix of wariness and anxiety for him to finish tending to Bruce for today so they could retreat to his room once more.

“He's not coherent yet,” Dr. Wayne explained, “but his eyes are opening and closing.”

“Any sign of permanent damage?” Jason questioned.

“Other than the trauma of being shot three times? No,” Dr. Wayne assessed, “but he was lucky the bullets landed at essentially harmless spots. He’d have needed a hospital, if he was to survive at all…”

The older man trailed of, his old age displayed for everyone to see. Martha Wayne came at his side, and he leaned on her as she drew circles in his back.

“We know this is difficult for you, Dr. Wayne,” Stephanie apologised, “and we’re terribly sorry but we didn’t know where else to go.”

“I don’t understand, why do you care so much about him?” the doctor suddenly asked, “you’re one of the child hostages, aren’t you?”

“Oh, well, er…” Stephanie stammered.

“How do you know that?” Jason cut in, narrowing his eyes, “The hostage situation hasn’t even made it to the news.”

“We have connections to the police,” Martha Wayne replied, keeping up a semblance of composure despite the weight on her shoulders, “and you’ve given us your name, Mrs. Brown. But why on Earth would you help Bruce instead of going home yo your father? He must worry and you don’t strike me as troublemaker.”

“Bruce is… I m…” Stephanie tried explaining, only to realise she really didn’t have the words. There was no simplifying her relation to Bruce, not like with the others. father/daughter, mentor/student, commanding officer/soldier… None of it fit quite right. Bruce had never been a father to her, and he’d long stopped being her teacher. What Bruce and Stephanie were, was a long list of broken promises, disappointments and redemption that ended with them sharing a lot of respect and perhaps more fondness for each other than necessary.

“I… Annoyed him? And he pissed me off?” Stephanie tried, “and then I slapped him. And now he supports me in all my choices?”

The two Waynes returned skeptical glances.

“I may have skipped a few steps here and there.”

“Are… you two…” Martha asked, horrified concern taking over her face.

“Oh Jesus, _no_!” Stephanie recoiled, “Gross! Ew, no! He’s old enough to be my _dad_! I dated his _son_! Ew!”

Jason face palmed.

“His _son_?” Thomas repeated.

“Crap, uh, no, not his _son_ -son,” Stephanie corrected herself, “Bruce doesn’t have a son. His, like, symbolic son. Jason.”

Jason choked on his spit.

“Right Jason?”

“Yes,” Jason agreed with a fake smile, “but that was a while back. We’re just friends now.”

“Of course,” Stephanie conceded.

“So you must be quite close to him,” Martha told Jason wistfully.

“Martha,” Thomas warned.

Their son was a criminal. He’d done terrible, unspeakable things. Evidence had been gathered since the tragedy. He’d never returned all the love they had given him. It was like Alfred told them, they didn’t owe him anything, but he owed the world justice.

“Give him a chance,” Stephanie told them hopefully, “he’s not always good with people, but there’s more to him than—”

“Steph,” Jason warned.

They couldn’t threaten the order of this alternate universe. As long as they didn’t know who else was there, and what had brought them there, caution was the master key. Besides, Bruce Wayne of this world was a scumbag of the highest order, and they couldn’t let him take credit for Bruce’s golden soul.

The couple and the displaced Bats stared at each other in a standstill. There was a bridge that could be created between them, and it was so obvious it practically bled all over the floor. But logic, common sense, and caution wouldn’t have any of that.

“We’ll give you a moment,” Thomas decided, walking away from the door to Bruce’s room. Martha followed him with a polite nod, but Stephanie didn’t miss the sight of Alfred glaring at them from the other side of the corridor.

“He would have been fast enough to get to the guns if he had been in his body,” Jason told her sombrely once the Waynes were out of earshot, “a few weeks of intense push ups isn’t enough to make up for forty years of self inflicted torture. We’re all weaker in this world — Why are you smiling?”

Smiling was perhaps too tame of word. Stephanie had unparalleled glee beaming from her face. She could feel the muscles of her mouth pulling way too far, and it still wasn’t enough to show the bolt of genius that had just struck her mind. 

“This isn’t Batman’s body,” Stephanie explained excitedly, “he hasn’t built up immunity to drugs and their side effects, so when Dr. Wayne said he wasn’t coherent…”

Jason’s face lit up, letting out a Robin grin so pure Stephanie nearly cooed.

“Wanna see the Batman high as a kite?” She asked him with a mischievous smirk.

They bolted to Bruce’s room.

…

Jason wasn’t sure what he had expected, but of course Bruce had completely awoken during their short conversation with his parents. The man had something against sleeping, and it seemed to be ingrained in his mind now. It was weird seeing him in a small guest bedroom, but the sight of his body covered in bandage was unfortunately much too familiar.

Bruce squinted at them. And the smiled brightly. Which in itself was creepy.

No it wasn’t. He’d seen that smile before. When he was Robin. 

“Robin! Batgirl! How are you lads?” Bruce cheered with a poster perfect smile.

“Oh my God he’s been possessed by Captain Marvel,” Stephanie breathed, holding back a laugh.

Jason wasn’t finding it as funny; Bruce hadn’t called him Robin in years.

“We’re good?” Jason tentatively replied.

Bruce frowned, “Where’s your energy Dickie? And why are you shaking Barbara?”

Pause.

Stephanie burst out giggling. “Haha, oh man! He totally thinks we’re Dick and Babs!”

“Is it the wedding?” Bruce continued asked, oblivious to the disturbed look Jason was giving him, “You have my blessing.”

“Wedding,” Jason deadpanned, turning to Stephanie for an explanation.

“Dick and Babs were engaged for a while,” Steph told him, still laughing, “even the Batman ships these two! This is, like golden!”

“I’m surprised they haven’t seen it through,” Jason pointed out, ignoring the way Bruce seemed to look at him in wonder.

Stephanie shrugged, “Yeah, no one but them really knows what happened to call it off. I actually have a bet with Cass about the reason.”

"You do realise she can _read people_ , right?” Jason reminded her.

“Just because I’ll never win against her doesn’t mean I should stop trying,” she replied as if it made perfect sense.

“You sound like Stephanie,” Bruce pointed out, distraught.

“ _No_ ,” Jason gasped sarcastically.

“Do you think Stephanie and Jason want to stay in this world?” Bruce asked them, almost mumbling the words. “Maybe we should stay.”

Stephanie stopped laughing at once.

Jason snorted derisively. There was no way Bruce, Gotham-is-my-territory, would want to stay in an alternate dimension, “Would you stay for them?"

“I would cut my throat in a heartbeat if it made them happier,” Bruce whispered before narrowing his eyes at Stephanie, “Is that a new shirt? It’s not very fashionable.”

Any other day, Bruce’s fashion comment would have sent the two former Robins in a fit of laughter, but it was hard to hear it over the echoes of the first part of his reply. He’d said it so casually, as if it was nothing but fact. They both knew Bruce was a serial martyr; he sacrificed his life for others on a daily basis. However, this was not sacrifice. This was not jumping in front of a bullet because there was no other day. This was hanging comfortably by a thread and giving scissors to a passerby.

By now, it was a certainty that Bruce’s end would come as a grand tragedy. But Jason had always envisioned that Death would have fight Bruce for it. He was a stubborn cockroach when it came to dying, and he never broke, never gave up.

That was Batman’s fundamental strength. There was no knocking him down or trapping him; if you wanted him gone, you could only kill him and prepare to be dragged to the grave as well. Alfred had once mused that that was why many of Batman’s colleagues feared crossing him, even Superman. War with him only had two outcomes: either he won, or his opponent had to kill him with their own two hands, and no one who called him a friend could bring themselves to even think about the possibility.

And yet there Bruce was, offering his life to the two people he had wronged the most.

Jason couldn’t tell why, but it pissed him off. Bruce wanted the easy way out? Fine! He was tempted to grab the scissors and be done with it. What, did Bruce think that’s what they wanted? Him, _gone_? Did he really think so little of them? It was always the same with that bastard — he never thought of the blood lost when he closed a wound.

“You — You don't mean that,” Stephanie stammered, pale.

“Green and orange?” Bruce’s nose crinkled, “Really? _Ace_ had better colour coordination. Where is Ace by the way? I liked that good chap.”

A word from them was all it took. Hundreds of crooks had tried killing Batman to no avail, and Jason and Stephanie were just, _handed_ that power.

“The only colour you like is black,” Stephanie tried joking, but her words fell weak.

“That's not true,” Bruce huffed, then he leaned towards his birds conspicuously, a hand hiding his mouth from any fly on the wall, “I like red, green and yellow too. But they don’t like me back.”

Of course it was the Robins’ fault. Of course he had to divert the problem to them.

“Stay on subject, old man,” Jason all but growled, “would you really die if we asked?”

“I can’t,” Bruce suddenly frowned, all serious and focused, “I can’t die yet. I have work to do. People are hurt. Criminals are drowning the streets. I can make Gotham better. I can — I can’t. I… Am I doing any good? Am I just making things worst?”

“You're asking that _now_?” Jason gaped, incredulous, “After _twenty years_?”

“ _Jason_ ,” Stephanie warned.

“What, ‘ _Jason_ ’?” Jason seethed, “He’s been preaching to us for years like God had personally given him the solution to life and _now_ he doubts himself? I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Don’t pretend this world isn’t messing with your head too,” Stephanie argued. Jason snarled at her — only because he knew how true that was. His thoughts here were... different. He just wasn't sure anymore, how much had the Lazarus Pit influenced him in their own dimension. His values hadn't changed,he still did believe that killing could be justified, but...

“This world is happier,” Bruce pitched in, back in his daze, “Everyone is happier in this world without Batman.”

“You can’t know that,” Stephanie told him, grabbing his hand gently.

“But they are,” Bruce insisted, “Dick’s parents are alive, Jason has so many friends, Barbara is married, Tim and Cassandra are successful heroes, Stephanie doesn’t have a crooked father, Damian… I don’t know about Damian, but at least he didn’t have an absentee father…”

“You didn’t know about Damian,” Stephanie reminded him. Why she was so adamant on nursing his shitty self-esteem, Jason couldn’t even begin to guess.

“I _should_ have known!” Bruce snapped. He was completely unstable, from an emotional point of view.

It was that thought that made it click — Bruce was panicking. The Batman was practically _babbling_ , letting out forty years' worth of suffocated insecurities. He was acting like the child he had never allowed himself to be.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Jason nearly spat, “you keep rubbing it in everyone’s faces that you can achieve impossible things without superpowers, and yet you expect yourself to have divine omniscience?”

“I’m _Batman_ ,” Bruce growled back, as if that condemned him by default. Strangely, part of Jason felt like it did. 

The most tragic part about B’s story, was that Bruce Wayne was Batman. It wasn’t Bruce’s overflowing heart or Batman’s spartan self discipline that was at the root of his constant agony. It was the mix of both that was truly toxic. It was the fact that he loved so much but that he had to act disregarding those feelings, and then suffer their backslash. It was the fact that he had to make rough decisions, but that he could never forgive himself for the slightest tear he brought. It was the fact that everything was his responsibility, and that made everything his fault.

It was the fact that Bruce wanted so much, and that Batman couldn’t take.

Maybe without Batman, Bruce could have been happy. Maybe without Bruce, Batman could have been a tolerable mantle to wear.

But Batman was Bruce Wayne. Anything else would only be a pastiche of the man.

“I’m Batman,” Bruce repeated softly, almost sadly. He really was a fucking martyr. Being angry at him was like making fun of Superman for his optimism — there’s a point where you just stop looking down, and see what he sees. And then all the anger becomes pride, and the mockery falls flat. Men as earnest as these two were just — _ugh!_ Bruce was such a fucking hero it was, _so_ , fucking, _frustrating!_

“Even when you’re high you make us cry,” Stephanie sniffled, “goddammit Bruce.”

* * *

“I’m so, so, _so_ sorry.”

“Instead of apologising a hundred time per hour, how about next time you freak out you don’t punch me?”

Kon rolled his eyes as he listened to the same exchange for the twentieth time that day. Zach had been sporting a magnificent bruise around his eye for the past two days, and it was all Cassie’s fault. The funny part was, Kon had actually seen and heard the whole scene from downstairs, and he’d been able to tell that it really had been some kind of mental breakdown reflex on Cassie’s part. The second the punch had launched and landed, Cassie had been smothering Zack with apologies and going into a full blown panic attack, which Zach actually talked her out of.

It was good to see how tight their friendship was despite the… circumstances.

The circumstances being Tim.

Ding! The elevator doors opened.

The group of three walked towards Kord’s bunker penthouse, and Cassie rang the bell. The intercom zapped to life.

“Cassie?” Barbara Gordon-Kord asked a few seconds later from the other end, her face appearing on the screen.

Kon frowned, “Should you be walking?”

“Should you be asking stupid questions?” Barbara retorted.

“I apologise for Conner’s stupidity,” Cassie smiled, “we’re here about the, er, investigation.”

“Hey!”

Barbara’s eyebrow rose as she looked at Kon, and then Zach.

“Come in,” she eventually decided, before opening the door, “would you like something to drink?”

“Nothing,” Kon and Cassie replied, “thank you.”

“Coke,” Zach answered, “Ow! What was that for, Cassie?”

“He’ll get it himself,” Cassie told Barbara, “don’t worry about it.”

“I am not an invalid,” Barbara sighed, “but sure, go ahead, if it makes you all super powered heroes feel even more all powerful. Ted’ll be out of his study in a few seconds.”

She walked to the table, and the three members of Young Justice joined her there once Zack had retrieved a coke can.

“I take it there’s been a new development?”

“Yeah,” Cassie nodded sombrely, “Zach has found evidence that Tim might be, uhm, that he might…”

“That Tim is working for Bruce Wayne,” Zach finished angrily.

“But you don’t believe him,” Barbara pointed out, looking between Cassie and Kon.

“I believe he saw what he says he saw,” Cassie corrected, biting her lip, “but I think there might be another explanation?”

Zach snorted, “Talia Al Ghul confirmed it to his face that he was the one who sent Bizarro after us, that the only reason Kon is back is because Tim wanted the League of Assassins to go after him, and that he had planned Leviathan’s murder.”

“Shit,” Ted swore, gaping at them in horror as he entered the room, “did she… Are you sure?”

“That’s…” Barbara frowned, running a hand through her hair, “that’s some pretty heavy accusations.”

“I…” Ted stammered, collapsing into one of the chairs, “Tim… I can’t believe it. How good is this evidence?”

“I had a magical spy mic attached to him,” Zach explained, “it’s powerful magic but I don’t have the power to keep it long or to cast it twice on the same person. But the other day, when Tim got caught? I heard his conversation with Talia Al Ghul and, and he was confident in his answers. They were playing mind games with each other — it was, I don’t know, like Tim was a whole other person. He wasn’t scared.”

“Isn’t that a possibility?” Barbara pointed out, hopeful, “I mean, there’s Everyman, Clayface, Orchid — who knows?”

“We did think about that, after I, er, punched Zach,” Cassie added sheepishly, “but that’s where Kon comes in.”

“You see, if Tim was replaced, then he’d have been before the Bizarro incident, right?” Kon reasoned, getting a nod from the Kords, “But Tim came to see me after that. He’s the one who convinced me to join YJ again.”

“To use you as _bait_ ,” Zack added.

“And yeah, he was slightly more confident, but it was _him_. Everything he told me was true, and everything he said was just so Tim. There’s no way anyone could have reproduced the shades of his personality so well.”

“So you think Tim did betray us,” Barbara concluded.

“No,” Kon corrected, “I think that we should trust Tim and that there’s probably a very good explanation for everything we think he’s done. Either that or some voodoo magic is possessing him and made hime evil.”

“How much did Cassie tell you about what we’re doing?” Ted asked.

Zack and Kon shared a look and shrugged.

“Nothing really,” Kon replied, “But since Zach and I couldn’t agree, and Cassie was having a mental breakdown, she told us maybe you guys would know what to do with the information.”

“I see,” Barbara nodded, before bluntly saying “good. Because we lied to her. We’re hunting down a traitor within the League.”

The teenagers’ eyes widened. Kon blanched. Zach swore. They both looked at Cassie, whose expression was more fit for a funeral. She must have guessed it, Cassie was far from stupid.

“Then it’s probably Tim,” Zach reasoned, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, “he really did betray us.”

“That’s not possible,” Kon vehemently denied, “Tim wouldn’t do that. There must be some explanation —”

“We can give him the benefit of the doubt,” Barbara conceded, “but we can’t overlook something this obvious.”

“The benefit of the doubt?” Zach scoffed.

“It’s not set in stone that it’s him,” Ted explained, “I’m sure you‘ve seen the news. Green Arrow is currently investigating what the ever hell is going on with Catgirl since even Catwoman doesn’t seem to know, and we haven’t been able to get in touch with Cyborg; he might have found a lead he’s following.”

“There’s a Cat _woman_?” Kon frowned.

He didn’t know much about Catgirl and, apparently, Catwoman, but judging by the lack of emotional response from Cassie and Zach, neither did they. Tim had actually asked a few times about Catgirl’s whereabouts in the past few days, and it seemed to be general consensus in Young Justice that not knowing anything about Catgirl was the norm. They weren’t close.

“No one is supposed to know about her,” Ted sighed, “but because of that we had to make sure no one knew anything about her protégé either, which makes it all the more easy to suspect she’s up to something. Catwoman was nice enough to provide us with her name a few days ago, but it doesn’t help at all. And now Nemesis is back and—”

“It’s okay, honey,” Barbara soothed, “relax.” She turned towards the younger heroes, “Point is, there’s a chance Tim is perfectly innocent, but we can’t afford to roll on it. Tim knows the secret identity of too many people and we think he might be in possession of some kryptonite.”

“He is,” Cassie admitted painfully, “he does have kryptonite.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Ted groaned, “this isn’t looking good.”

“Kon,” Barbara urgently asked, “I know you can’t tell us Superman’s secret identity, or if he even has one, but do you know if Tim knows anything that could compromise him?”

“I, er,” Kon replied, looking through his memories for anything, “not really. To be honest, even I don’t know much about Superman. He’s kind of a loner; I haven’t talked to him in years. But in theory, Supergirl and I are the only ones who know… compromising info and who can be found without knowing said compromising info beforehand. Kara has been in space for a year and a half and no one has approached me while I lived on the farm.”

“What about the people on the farm, could they—“

“No.”

“…. Alright. Good.”

“So, what’s the plan now?” Cassie asked.

“The plan?” Ted repeated tiredly, “I guess it’s time to bring Green Arrow in.”

* * *

Tim was eating at the Watchtower cafeteria when Oliver came in. He was the only one wearing civilian clothes, but no one could really blame him. The Watchtower was his home for now. In fact, he looked completely comfortable amongst the other heroes who were either of passage or on monitor duty, with his red hoodie and his black sweatpants. Still, he sat alone, and he really shouldn’t have been.

“Pizza and a Red Bull?” Oliver asked, raising an eyebrow. He sat down in front of him.

Tim shrugged unapologetically, “They have a lot of good food here thanks to the Flash.”

He looked tired. He’d let his hair grow a bit, and he was starting to have messy bangs. Under his eyes were heavy bags and his overall posture was just a perfect replica of college student at five a.m. with a six a.m. deadline and two sentences on his word document.

“How are you holding up, Timmy?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t know,” Tim admitted tiredly, “These past few days have been… eventful, and I don’t think I’ve processed what happened yet, and now I have a bunch of time and it just seems a bit, anticlimatic? I don’t know.”

“You want me to ring Mongul so he can wreak havoc in the Watchtower for you?”

“Har har. Did you come here for a therapy session or…?”

“What? I can’t even visit my sidekick without ulterior motives?” Oliver scoffed, with fake offence, “Or are you too busy _not_ kicking Mongul’s ass up here?”

“Go ahead,” Tim groaned, “rub how dull my life is in my face! Make fun of the poor, traumatised child who’s literally as far from home as humanly possible!”

“Eh,” Oliver shrugged, “if you can dramatise, you’re fine.”

“Please never become a psychiatrist.”

“Hey, do you remember that time you got your father a watch for father’s day?” Oliver suddenly asked, hoping to catch the boy off guard.

And by the looks of things, he did.

For the first time since Oliver had stepped into the Watchtower, Tim made direct eye contact with him. He almost looked sad, and nearly had Oliver backtracking and calling the whole thing off. But he had to know.

“Yeah… Why?” Tim replied, not hiding his skepticism.

“You had it engraved and all,” Oliver continued.

“If you want one you can get it done online at Robex dot com,” Tim told him.

Oliver gave him an unamused look. “I know how to use Google, brat.”

Tim had the gall to look innocent, “Hey, you still use arrows. Who knows what else is archaic with you?”

“You use arrows too!” Oliver gruffly reminded him.

“Only because I was a young and impressionable child who got suckered into your cult,” Tim huffed.

“Sure you —“ Oliver started retorting before realising Tim had successfully sidetracked him. No, maybe it wasn’t on purpose. “The watch.”

“Yes, the watch. What do you need to know?”

“It never made it home.”

“Well, it did, but in pieces,” Tim corrected.

“Wouldn’t it have been safer to have it delivered home?” Oliver asked, “It’s been bugging me.”

“There is a mass murder investigation going on and that’s what’s bugging you?” Tim deadpanned.

“Humour me,” Oliver insisted.

“Fine, fine,” Tim raised his hands, “I went to get it myself because the shop was on the way to the grocery store, and I had promised to cook that night. I figured it was easier and that paying for the delivery was completely pointless.”

“Huh,” Oliver concluded, “that was surprisingly normal.”

“What were you expecting?” Tim asked, “That I believed the delivery men were secretly aliens and that if I gave them my address they would zap me away?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Oliver admitted, “well, I have to go though. How was the meal you cooked?”

“I ended up just making eggs,” Tim replied, “did you really just come for that?”

“What can I say? It was _really_ bugging me,” Oliver smirked as he stood up, “besides, I figured you could use the company.”

Tim blinked, and then he smiled warmly, “I did. Thanks.”

Oliver waved goodbye as he walked away from the cafeteria and towards the teleporters. A strong hand stopped him before he could step inside though, and Oliver looked up to see sympathetic blues eyes riddled with concern.

“Are you alright Oliver?” Diana asked.

He wasn’t. The boy he thought of like a son was very likely working against them all. The boy _they_ thought of like a son. There was no impostor. Oliver aside, no one else but Tim and Jack knew about the father’s watch incident, and Jack was very much dead.

“Yeah, I’m,” Oliver started, before dropping his head on Diana’s shoulder, “I’m just so @#$% tired.”

* * *

It had been a week since the two children and Bruce had shown up at the Manor’s doorstep, and still Martha and Thomas Wayne couldn’t decide what to do. Bruce had awoken, and was already moving around, much to everyone’s surprise, but his parents still avoided his room like the plague. All the communication was done via one of the two street kids. They seemed harmless enough, but Alfred could recognise a soldier when he saw one. There were two. 

Martha and Thomas were too kind for their own good.

But Alfred knew better than to feed someone else when one was starving. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his masters, and Bruce Wayne was far too dangerous of a man to be allowed in this Mansion any longer.

“Alfred?” The other side of the line asked.

“Master Kane? I know where your nephew is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter was a bit hard to write.  
> Next up: Damian's amazing infiltration skills, Bruce really appreciates the thought, but he'd prefer if Steph shuts up next time, and Tim's life is just one huge mess, why does he even.


	11. Well fuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For expert ninjas, Bats sure are easy to catch.

He had to get out.

He’d done what Drake had asked, and he was not staying another second in this place. He’d already been lurking around for a week and a half now.

Red Robin clearly didn’t realise what he was asking of Damian when he’d assigned him the job. He’d been sympathetic of Damian’s ply and his desperate need to get out from Talia’s grasp, but he could never understand that the whole League reeked of suffocation for Damian.

How could he? Damian had grown up a Prince with a bright future. There had been no doubts that he was royalty in the League, and he’d always been so sure of himself. _The world will be yours_ , his mother used to tell him. And he’d believed her, because it had seemed the natural way of things.

Then there had been Gotham. Ugly, depraved, twisted Gotham. A city without order. A mockery of hierarchy. Often people thought ‘survival of the fittest’ reigned high, but it wasn’t the case. How could it be? The strong were beaten by the smart, the smart by the crazy, the crazy by the apathetic, the apathetic by the cunning, the cunning by the skilled, the skilled by the influential… Gotham never let _anyone_ get complacent or comfortable. Even Damian, trained assassin, heir to the Waynes, son of Batman, still had to prove himself again and again. But he found that he _wanted_ to. And just like him, the people there, the criminals, the vigilantes, just as well as the civilians, they had something in them. A fire. A spark. They had heat in their hearts, and bite in their blood. They weren’t necessarily powerful, but they would fight, or they would break down, in mind, body and any other area the words applied to.

Gotham was terrible. Oh she was terrible. She wasn’t fair, and sometimes, it just didn’t matter how much one poured into her; she was cruel. But she was an obsessive lover, and sickly possessive of her people. She said just the right words, showed just the right pictures, for people to be too proud to leave. So they shouted at the sky to bring on the challenge, that they wouldn’t fall, that they would come out the other side stronger. Gotham was a rotting dumpster, but she was theirs, and she offered comfort for those who, in a world that rejected their ‘insanity’, became addicted to her thrill.

He’d told his mother he had found Batman ‘cooler' than her as a reason for staying. But that had never been that true, had it? The moment he had stepped into that city, he must have felt it. He must have tasted the possibilities she offered. He must have realised that Gotham was a place without personal restriction, that this was where he could be Damian, and not another faceless assassin. Gotham was where people fought the world to find themselves.

The League was easier. It was hard work, pain, and a close relation with death, but it never tugged at one’s heart. It never planted shame, guilt, anger and grief to grow like tumours in people by pulling them into impossible decisions — decisions which tested the soul much more honestly than a number of kills.

Or so, the League used to be. 

Alter-Talia had given Damian a sword and ordered him to execute a man a few days after he’d arrived in this world.

It had been an easy task, and Damian had already pictured the movement, the timing, and the blood splattering. He’d done it before, and rationally, he had not seen any not to do it again. It had been his cover blown, or this man, whom he knew nothing about, dead. The mathematics were obvious.

And yet the boy found his sword wouldn’t swing. Gotham had been whispering in his mind, mocking him for giving up so easily just because Batman wasn’t looking, and his pride hadn’t been able to take it. He’d chosen the R on his chest and the rules that followed it. He could have been a Professor Pyg, or a Red Hood, but he’d chosen the ‘R.’ Killing someone meant going back on that own choice, running away from the path he’d dared himself to take and that — that, he couldn’t do.

So he took the punches. He found clever ways around killing. He planned grand assassinations hoping they would fail.

But Damian wasn’t Drake or Grayson. He stopped killing out of principle, not out of love. He’d committed serious crimes in his youth, and he sometimes still found himself thinking of pulling the trigger. He wasn’t a saint at heart, but he was trying. He was trying so hard, and being forced to reassess himself every day, to chose his pride over his honour, to remember all the things he had done — it was torture. He’d already made the hard decision once and it had taken every drop of his will back then too, so why was this world intent on tempting him to go back on it?

Not to mention this monstrous body, with its corrupted blood running through —

Still, he’d done the job. Now he wanted to go home.

And the League of Assassins wasn’t home.

Damian slithered through the poison garden, careful not to touch any plant that would incapacitate him. It was daybreak, the time where the League was — certainly not asleep, but perhaps at its most passive. Drake was, as much as it pained to admit, right. Damian was the perfect pawn to infiltrate the League. He knew all about how they worked their shifts and how to get around the Headquarters. Even though the League hadn’t taken root in the same place as in their universe, Damian had had over a month a half to familiarise himself with its layout. Besides, it wasn’t that different. Ra’s still preferred his tapestry hanging on the wall rather than covering the cold hard floor of the compound: honour took precedence over comfort.

A few apprentices were hanging around the greenhouse, none with the skills to spot Damian. He hadn’t chosen this spot by roll of dice; its most dangerous prowler was usually asleep at this time, as lazy as the animal after which she was —

“ _OUT!_ ”

Cheshire came in like a gunshot breaking the silence. She had slammed both doors to the garden open, storming in angry and wearing… a bathrobe? That… wasn’t protocol. Was it a trick? The woman _was_ known for deceit. Damian had been trained to take out soldiers armed to the teeth, he wasn’t quite sure what the deal was with bathrobes.

The three apprentices stilled, and quickly hurried out. Cheshire caught the last one by his wrist, and practically snarled at him.

“Is he here?”

“Who?” The poor confused soul replied without thinking it through.

“Santa _obviously_ ,” Cheshire growled, throwing him out of the greenhouse violently. Damian would have winced at the crash, but he knew better than to make a move at the moment. Cheshire was one of the best; she could spot him if he wasn’t careful.

“I know you’re here!” The assassin declared, looking around savagely. She usually had more control than this over her emotions. Damian expected more from her. Jade Nguyen was an international terrorist, and she certainly had not earned her nickname through temper tantrums.

This was… bad. Very bad. How had she known about Damian? He’s spent days lurking in the compound, carefully planning his every move just to make sure he wouldn’t even be noticed. The job was get in, get out, and Damian was certain he’d done nothing to compromise his presence. He even brought his own food to ensure no one would notice anything missing. He went to the bathroom outside!

And dammit he was no Batman, but he liked to think he knew a thing or two about stealth.

 _Focus, Robin, focus_ , he told himself, calming his pounding heart.

It was true. If he was caught, things would get… Unbearable to say the least. Talia would slide her fingers across his neck again, and Bane would have his grubby hands around his wrists. Drake would get skewered by the Justice League, and his (their?) father would never get the help he called for. Besides, he d chosen the ‘R’, and that meant he’d forsaken the League. Even fate couldn’t force him back.

He could do this.

The problem was, this was Cheshire’s home-ground. All these plants were her little pets. And only she knew what chemicals were brewing in the lab at the back. Meanwhile, all Damian had were throwing stars, a katana, a few smoke pellets, a few knives, a smartphone, and a comm link to Drake.

As far as inventories went, this one wasn’t so disastrous, but… Well, Cheshire was _good_ , and it took more than fighting technique to bring her down.

Damian carefully controlled his breath as Cheshire fumed around the greenhouse, searching for anything out of place. He made sure to always have eyes on her feet, and nothing else. If he could see her head, she could see his eyes, and he wouldn’t risk that. He shifted his position only slightly to keep himself hidden by the leaves of whatever plant was looming over him.

Cheshire briefly disappeared under the shadow of another row of plants, and Damian took the opportunity to roll away to another patch of Earth, closer to the door. It had been daft of him to hide in a room with only one exit. He should have known better.

“Ha!” Cheshire laughed in vindictive victory as she jumped to Damian’s previous hiding place, where the leaves were still rustling. “You can’t hide forever,” she sang, inspecting the bush before looking at its surroundings.

“You will regret this,” the assassin continued, her eyes still scanning the whole place.

Why was she taking things so personally? Back in their world, Jade Nguyen was nothing if not a professional. She wasn’t so much attached to the League as she was to its prestige and its salary. With the right offer, she was even likely to betray it.

Perhaps this was just another difference. Maybe this Cheshire saw a real home in the League.

It hardly mattered.

Damian took another glance at the exit. It was closer now, but… but there were two exits? Damian closed his eyes. No, there was only one. Why would their be two replicas of the same door side by side? It served no purpose. And yet, there were… three.

Oh. Oh no.

Damian craned his neck, but even such a small movement suddenly made him dizzy. Everything was too bright. Where was up again? His head hurt. His stomach was coming up his throat.

There it was. At Damian’s feet. Nightshade. Belladonna. The one modified by Cheshire to act upon touch instead of ingestion.

He had to run for it now. He needed the antidote fast. Stealth was useless if one was dead.

Damian stumbled, his foot caught into something. A vine was creeping up his leg, slowly moving up on his body, tying him up completely.

The vines wouldn’t untangle. The vines. Wouldn’t. Untangle. Damian pulled at them harder, tugging at the roots, and biting at the leaves. He needed to get out. He needed to get out. She was coming. But it wouldn’t budge. The plant only got tighter. The boy struggled more and more, survival quickly taking over logic. He didn’t have time to figure out those knots. He couldn’t think of any dislocation that could help. She was coming. It took everything he had not to cry and curse as he fought the bounds. That. Cursed. Plant. Wouldn’t —

And then there was light in his face, where the curtain of leaves had been pulled apart.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Kir — _Damian_?” Cheshire's voice gave way to confusion, “Aren't you dead?” She blinked a few times, and then her smile stretched, “My, my. It looks like I’ve caught a traitor.”

* * *

“Will—“ Sit-up “— you —“ Sit-up “— stop —“ Sit-up “— doing —“ Sit-up “— that?!”

Bruce barely spared a glance as Stephanie groaned into her hands. He was forcing his chest up again, and the young woman was half tempted to strangle him. It was a bit counterproductive though, threatening him with bodily harm because he was risking bodily harm, but _Christ_ \- Bruce was a ridiculous human being. It had only been a week since he’d been shot. Shot. Three times.

“You said not to leave my bed,” Bruce pointed out blankly. It was a good thing he didn’t seem to remember much of what had been said when he was high. Even Jason and Stephanie hadn’t managed to bring it up between them.

“ _Doctor Wayne_ said not to leave the bed,” Stephanie corrected him, “ _Doctor_. Medical degree. Knows stuff. Keeps people alive.”

“I know what a doctor is, Mrs. Brown,” Bruce replied with an eye roll, “and I know what my father did for a living.”

“Hence why you’re trying to reopen your wounds?” Stephanie deadpanned, “Keep at it and I’ll get Dr. Wayne in here so he can lecture you himself and then you won’t be able to avoid that talk with you parents anymore.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce warned, pausing his stupid work out to give her a trademarked Bat-glare.

Stephanie sighed, “Yes, I know. We’ve been over this. They’re not your parents. You’re not their Bruce. But come on, it’s been so awkward this past week! Hey, here’s an idea. You say they’re connected to the Soldier of Gotham and that he’s your cousin or something —“

“Uncle.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that to me. Anyway, maybe they could help us with our situation,” Stephanie suggested.

“We can’t tell them,“ Bruce shot down, “we can’t trust them. If enemies knew we were as clueless as we are, we’d be too easy to exploit. As long as we don’t know exactly what is happening in this world, we can’t afford that.”

It made sense. Of course it made sense. It was Bruce. Still, it was sort of obvious he _also_ wanted to avoid facing his mountain load of emotional issues. Seeing his parents alive… Well, Stephanie couldn’t really tell what it was like. Her mother was alive, and she really preferred her father dead, so.

Jason strode in the room, dressed in white, black and lavender, his Black Mask suit. He threw Stephanie’s purple jumper and leggings at her, which she caught by reflex, and Bruce’s black shirt and pants. They had been washed sometime during this past week apparently.

“We're leaving," he declared.

“Alfred?” Bruce guessed, already pulling the shirt over his head.

Jason nodded, “Just heard him on the phone with colonel Kane.”

“Whoa,” Stephanie interrupted, hurriedly pulling her leggings up, “Bruce still needs to rest. What’s happening?”

“Alfred snitched on us,” Jason explained, looking through the window for signs of hostiles.

“He wouldn’t,” Stephanie argued. Alfred was, Alfred was the backbone of the family. Bruce was the magnet towards which they all gravitated, but Alfred was magnetism, the force keeping them together. Of course, the second she thought about it, she immediately knew what Bruce’s answer would be.

“He would,” Bruce confirmed, in full Batman mode, “I wouldn’t trust him so much if I didn’t know he’d do the same for me.”

Alfred was the one who guarded the Batcave with a shotgun. He wasn’t Bruce — Alfred would go much further than him when it came to protecting his pups. And in this world, Alfred had long lost respect for the wayward Bruce.

Once they were on their feet, the three bats didn’t even consider the window. They had seen the alarm there on the first day, and they knew about the metal bars that would drop the second they attempted to breach it. The Soldier was clearly very protective over his family.

They had already discussed their plan if they needed to make a quick exit. The Waynes didn’t know about the cave under their mansion. Once they reached it, the Bats would be in their territory, and vanishing from there was child’s play. The trick was reaching it. 

They could probably fight Alfred and the Waynes pretty easily, but from Bruce’s reports, the Soldier could reach the Mansion extremely quickly.

They could take him. Maybe.

It was hard to tell.

Bruce was injured, and he wasn’t in his brickwall of a body. Stephanie herself was lacking the muscles she’d gained as Spoiler, Robin, and Batgirl, and Jason didn’t have a single weapon on him, as Alfred had confiscated them all.

They snuck around the living room, and towards the kitchen.

Alfred’s eyes widened when he saw them.

“What —“

Before he could raise the alarm, Jason dosed him with anaesthetics he had snatched from Thomas Wayne’s reserves a few days before just in case.

“Sorry Alfie,” Jason apologised genuinely.

The older man only struggled for a few seconds before passing out, and Jason eased his fall gently so he wouldn’t hit his head on the corner of the table. He nodded sharply once, to indicate Alfred was not a concern anymore. 

Stephanie handed Bruce two bobby pins, and he got to work. After having seen him fight and lead armies, it was sometimes easy to forget how good he was at all the small stuff. Sure most of the Bats were expert lock-picks, but Bruce did it like he flipped a light switch.

The back door swung open, and Bruce peeked through.

“Clear?” Stephanie whispered.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“Clear.”

Jason and Steph snuck out, clinging to the wall of the Mansion, and covered Bruce as he followed them. The access to the cave wasn’t far, but the path there was in the open, and the distance enough to be made. If someone was watching, they’d be seen. Not to mention, it was daytime; not their favourite moment to thrive.

However, the had an advantage: Stephanie was, officially, more of a victim that a criminal. As long as she made sure to position herself between Bruce and whoever came after him, she could buy him enough time to get away.

It was a good plan, you know, if some _one_ came after them.

Not, like some _seven_.

They’d barely taken a few steps forward, when they found themselves surrounded by a wall of light.

“Teleports,” Bruce cursed under his breath, “the Watchtower.”

And indeed, once the light dissipated, it revealed the Justice League, in all its glory. Well, not really. It was _a_ Justice League, which felt strangely less… Something. It just didn’t inspire as much as the one Steph was used to.

Not that she wasn’t scared shitless. Wonder Woman, the Flash, Hawkgirl, Green Lantern, Blue Beetle, Green Arrow, and the Soldier were _encircling_ them. All of them had made names for themselves much like Bruce had, and all of them were as great as their stories.

They were utterly screwed.

“We got lost looking for the bathroom,” Stephanie reflexively blurted out.

The circle of super hero wasn’t amused.

“All three of you?” The Blue Beetle asked.

“Yep, just me, Matches, and Alvin over there.”

“Bruce Wayne,” Wonder Woman declared regally, taking a step forward, “you are under arrest for the murder of Wildcat, Jade, the Atom, Stargirl, Hawkman, and Zatanna, as well as the attempted homicide of Booster Gold and Black Canary, and the terrorist attack on the JSA.”

“Jason Todd,” she continued, “you are under arrest for the murder of Gregory Sionis and Francis Paris, as well as your suspected involvement in the JSA massacre. You are suspected of abetting known criminal Bruce Wayne.”

Diana’s words seemed to remind the Justice Leaguers of their loss, and consequently their anger. GA stretched his bow, Flash got ready to run, and Hawkgirl bounced her mace in her palm.

Diana was as imposing as their Wonder Woman, but there was something lacking. She was too cold about this, too professional. Stephanie had only teamed up with her once in a massive army of female superheroes, but it had been enough to see that Diana of Themyscira wasn’t just a powerful warrior. She wasn’t another Batman who was all about strategy and duty. She had something more that this Diana didn’t have. It wasn’t a carefree attitude, or confidence, but it came close.

This Diana was too tense.

“Mrs. Brown?” The Soldier asked, “Please step away from Wayne, we won’t hurt you.”

Oh no. There was no way she was getting away scott free when Bruce and Jason were going to be burnt on the pyre.

“I'm not moving,” Stephanie challenged.

“Stephanie, go,” Bruce ordered her quietly.

“No,” Stephanie hissed back, “I'm not leaving you. Either of you. If they want to get to you, it’ll be over my dead body.”

“Mrs. Brown, please,” Green Arrow insisted, “we don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”

“Her loyalty is admirable,” Hawkgirl pointed out, “maybe she _is_ working for Wayne.”

“It’s Stockholm syndrome,” the Soldier shot down, “she’s not a criminal, she’s a hostage who’s been in captivity for over month. Her father is looking for her. What would a college freshman bring to Wayne’s schemes?”

“Uhm, ex _cuse_ me?” Stephanie huffed.

The Soldier stepped forward, reaching towards Stephanie to manhandle her away. 

Jason tackled him before Stephanie could do it herself, sending her a passing warning look. What was that supposed to mean? 

Jason managed to snatch a knife from the Soldier’s equipment, expertly slicing off all the equipment he could reach a strap for, but the Soldier ended up immobilising Jason after a brief exchange of blows, slamming him into the ground. He wasn’t Bruce — but he was damn good at his job too.

Bruce looked like he wanted to help his surrogate son, but the second he bent his knees slightly to charge, Wonder Woman pinned him violently against the wall of the mansion. He didn’t wince, but he didn’t glare back immediately, which was the Bat version of wincing. This wouldn’t help his injuries.

It was only then that Stephanie noticed Thomas and Martha Wayne watching the show in horror. They must have heard the commotion. It was easy to tell the moment Bruce had noticed them too; he stopped struggling.

They were down. Bruce and Jason were down. They were going to be tried. They were going to be executed. Steph had to do something. She was the only one standing. The job fell to her.

“Teleport us to the Watch—“ Blue Beetle started saying in his earpiece, but Stephanie slapped the device away, startling everyone else.

“You can’t take them away,” she declared, taking a fighting stance, “I won’t let you.”

Yes. Stephanie knew that she was like an ant cursing at a storm.

“Don't throw away your life for someone like Wayne,” the Flash advised with real sympathy, “I don’t know what you think you owe him—“

“He’s a jackass, sure, but I owe him _everything_ ,” Stephanie growled back, “and it doesn’t even matter because I happen to _care_ about him and Jason so up yours, tighty-pants!”

Stephanie didn’t why she thought that was a smart argument. She was under a bit too much pressure to be smart at the moment. Her mouth didn’t always have a filter.

“We don’t have time for this,” Green Lantern sighed, “Just leave her here. Gorgon, take us back to—“

“Clark Kent!” Stephanie threw.

“Who?” Diana frowned.

“Oh wow. Did _not_ see that one coming,” Stephanie muttered.

“Stephanie,” Bruce warned.

“Oliver Queen,” she amended, pointing to the Green Arrow, “Barry Allen, Hal Jordan, Ted Kord, Jacob —“

“That's enough,” the Soldier interrupted.

“This — How…” The Flash stammered, “Does that mean Wayne _knows_ …?”

“I’m staying with them,” Stephanie declared.

The heroes looked at each other, some of them deathly pale. It was no joke to have their identities found out. It meant their loved ones could be in danger. It meant that their enemies could hit them where it really hurt. Knowing these names gave one immense power, and Stephanie knew that. This was a low blow, sure, but Stephanie was a Bat, and that meant that blackmailing metas was in her repertoire. 

The Justice League shared nods.

“No argument here,” the Green Lantern agreed, constructing another pair of handcuffs for Stephanie, and moving her to the green cage Jason and Bruce were currently in.

They both gave her flat looks. Looks she knew very well. Looks Barbara had given her more times than she could count.

“I messed up, didn’t I?” She cringed, sheepishly.

“No, _marvellous_ job out there, blondie,” Jason replied sarcastically.

“It's usually easier to break someone out when you’re _not_ locked up _with_ them,” Bruce reminded her sternly.

Stephanie tried face-palming, but her handcuffs made it so she just jingled the chains and bowed like a Japanese business man giving out his name-card. Oh God, Bruce was _so_ going to fry her. Stephanie braced herself for the lecture of the century.

“Nonetheless, I appreciate the sentiment.”

Huh.

* * *

Tim was worried. He hadn’t heard from Damian in four days.

Rationally, he knew he shouldn’t worry. Damian was insufferable, yes, but he was a prodigy. There really was no way around that word. Damian was a genius, in many different ways. His fighting skills were already at the level of a professional assassin, he could tinker with the Batmobile and actually improve it from Bruce’s specs, he could imitate anyone’s voice, and he drew like a master of the art. And he was eleven. _Eleven_. Unbelievable, much like his father.

Damian no doubt had the skills to infiltrate almost any place on Earth, and the League was somewhere he knew the layout of, and the habits of its inhabitants. It was the kind of the job that was not necessarily easy, but that Tim could trust him to manage. Kind of like when Bruce had to send Robin after a criminal or an other.

The demon brat _really_ sounded like he hadn’t wanted to go though. Tim could trust him to survive, but could the job have other repercussions on him? Psych-wise? 

It wasn’t like Tim had a choice anyway. His hands were tied.

Tim gritted his teeth and crammed the tiny device in a fissure in the wall.

“It's done,” he reported.

“Good,” Talia approved in his earpiece, “now go back to your friends before they get suspicious.”

Easy to say. Tim could guess why the League wanted a camera in the old JSA Hall. The League was more than a group of assassin, it was also an intelligence hub. They worked blackmail like they worked all the other arts of making people miserable. Of course, they’d want to know how this investigation was proceeding. It just really irked him that he had to be the one to plant it. He knew very well they had people with enough stealth to do it themselves.

Talia just wanted him to know how easily she could twist his arm. She just didn’t know how much it hurt him.

As a detective, disturbing a crime scene as such bothered him more than a bit. It was a question of principle. Deceit was great when he was fighting a war, but crime scenes were almost holy ground to him. It was disrespectful to use it.

As said before, it wasn’t like Tim had a choice.

The old JSA Hall looked like it had been abandoned two centuries ago. There was moss growing everywhere, and the walls were cracked and fissured. Clearly other-Bruce had gone all out to kill the metas: traces of chemicals, robots, explosives, even _magic_ , could be found around. The ceiling lights were all smashed, reduced to dangling wires, and the only source of light left was the red glare of the sunset, unobstructed by the smaller buildings, and unfiltered trough the glassless window.

In the middle of the Hall was the oval table with the JSA symbol on it. It had been cracked in two, splicing the word Justice in half. Half of the chairs were sprawled around it, none left on its feet. The other half were in splinters. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Tim.

Bruce had trained him better than to muse about symbols though. Tim analysed the various breaks and dents to try and recreate the general motions of the fight in his mind. Clearly Zatanna had been taken down quickly; there was nothing weirdly deformed in the ruins. Stargirl had stood long enough to shoot a few robots - but not that long. By the angles of the blast, they had all been shot from the same spot, and in a fight this messy, it also meant within seconds of each other.

This had relied on speed and surprise. It had been an efficient slaughter.

“Tim!”

Tim looked up from the piece of debris he was inspecting. Cassie was walking towards him.

“Where were you?” she asked, “you completely disappeared for a few seconds there.”

“I was just looking at the piping in the ceiling,” he lied, “the robots could have entered from there.”

Cassie barely seemed to listen to his excuse. She was often like that these days, too preoccupied with something else. In fact, Kon was also acting a bit dodgy. Had something happened between these two, as it had happened back in Tim’s world? Or were they suspecting Tim already? Oliver Queen had clearly been fishing for information the other day, at the Watchtower. He was sure he’d past that test, going by Queen’s reaction. It was pure damn luck that he’d chosen something that had actually happened between Tim and Bruce to quiz him on. 

The only ones acting normal were Bart and Zach. Of course, normal for Zach meant being an arrogant, grumpy _prick_ , but at least it was true to the Zach Tim knew in his world.

Then again, after everything that had happened, acting out was much more normal than getting over it immediately.

“The Justice League has already turned the place over dozens of time,” Bart complained, “what makes you so sure _we_ ’ll find something?”

“I didn’t say I was _sure_ ,” Tim corrected, “I said it was worth a shot. We need to understand how Wayne managed to… to do _this_. That way we can prepare ourselves for it, and maybe it’ll give us clues as to what really happened, and why.”

Also, it could lead to the real traitor, which could clear Tim’s name. Which would get rid of Talia’s grip. Which would help Tim help Bruce.

“ _You_ want to find out what happened,” Zach deadpanned.

“Don't you?” Tim frowned.

“Don't get snappy,” Cassie chided, “We just don’t know what we’re looking for.”

A small silence fell on the team as they looked around them. They were standing in the middle of a real tomb, and it clearly made them uncomfortable.

“There's nothing you find weird here?” Tim rephrased.

“There's something I find weird,” Bart admitted, raising his hand, “out of everyone, how are Black Canary and _Booster Gold_ fine?”

“Fine?” Zach repeated, “Booster Gold is in a coma, and Black Canary has permanent brain damage! They’re vegetables, they might as well be dead!”

“He meant alive,” Tim sniped back, “and it is a good question. Clearly Wayne was… thorough.”

“Do you think it was on purpose?” Kon frowned.

“No,” Tim replied, “it's a good question, but the answer’s pretty simple. Look at the symbols on the chairs, Canary was sitting next to Booster. Now, remember Leviathan’s master plan to murder us all at the warehouse? The reason his plan was so lethal was that it was tailored for us. He knew our powers and our weaknesses. Wayne followed the same principle, and there is absolutely no way Wayne’s information on Booster was accurate. He underestimated him, leaving a window for Booster to save himself and Canary.”

“He underestimated Booster Gold,” Zach repeated, scoffing, “is that even possible? The guy’s a joke.”

“Hey look,” Tim fake smiled, “you're doing it too!”

“Guys. Come on. How are you so sure Wayne didn’t know about Booster?” Cassie asked, “In fact, how do _you_ know Booster is so capable?”

“Booster helped me with something very important once,” Tim replied truthfully, “and _everyone_ underestimates him, including Wayne.”

“Fine, alright,” Zach allowed, “Suppose Booster surviving this is normal. What is weird then?”

“There's no evidence left,” Tim replied, “whoever did this made sure that anything that could explode afterwards would, and that incriminating chemicals would be washed away. Something this big just can’t not leave any evidence. It was cleaned.”

“Well, of course it was,” Bart shrugged, “if I was a criminal I’d clean up after myself too.”

“Yeah, but this guy is thorough,” Tim muttered, just coming to a realisation, “this guy clearly thought it through. He found every string that could lead up to him and then cut them.”

“So?” Zach impatiently prompted.

“So it wouldn’t make sense for the Justice League to trace it back to him only hours after the crime!” Tim concluded, almost getting excited at the mystery, “A guy this good would think of ways to kick himself off the suspect list! I mean, come on, with his resources and History, Bruce Wayne would obviously be the first under fire. Surely if Wayne had thought of all that, he’d have realised that fact as well, no?”

“You're saying Bruce Wayne did not do this,” Kon rephrased, eyes wide.

“No,” Tim corrected, “I'm saying that while Wayne may have had his hand in it, it’s very unlikely he was the main mastermind.”

Cassie and Zach exchanged a look, and the team fell silent once more. Tim was obviously the only one excited by the new development. 

“Guys!”

The all turned around to see Greta phasing through the wall to join them.

“You back?” Bart grinned hopefully.

“Sorry, no. Hal just wanted me to tell you the news,” Greta beamed, “we caught Wayne!”

Well fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: it's been a while since anyone woke up in this strange land completely befuddled, hasn't it? ;)  
> Also, a bunch of people get their asses handed to them.  
> And is that... a reunion under less than optimal circumstances I see coming?


	12. Trial by Combat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Bruce Wayne has always been a ridiculous human being, and that he didn't become a pillar of his world's superhero community by falling over easily. (some scenes in italics inspired by and quoted from the comic The Return of Bruce Wayne).

Barbara didn’t wake up with a start, but God did she wish she had. Instead, she came to slowly, registering every bit of discomfort one at a time. At first, it was minor. Her pillow sunk too much. Her back hurt a bit. She felt bloated. Then, as she became more aware, discomfort turned to nausea, and suddenly she was suffocating. It was like someone had piled up fifty blankets over her, and fifty pillows under. It was soft, but she was drowning in it, and it was so very hot and crushing.

She wanted fresh air, freedom. Yet, when she tried moving, she found it too hard. Her torso wouldn’t turn like she wished it too. She was reduced to sleeping on her back, and that wasn’t her preferred position. Plus her hair was on her face, and she felt like she had eaten a regiment’s annual portion of food. And the blankets. And the pain.

Everything was set on annoying her.

Oh — Of course. She must be on her period.

Barbara groaned, preparing herself to face bloody sheets. Then she froze.

She might have imagined it — No, there it was again. But that… Sure, she had made progress with Dr.Midnight, but still. She could wiggle her toes, sometimes, but not — There! Again!

Barbara’s eyes flew open. She could move her legs! She could —

Not sit up.

Because there was something on her stomach. Something big, round. It was actually just her stomach, but it was the size of a mountain. She wasn’t on her period.

Good God, she was pregnant. Very pregnant.

What even… How… This wasn’t like she had just missed her period or something. That bump was at least six month growing. You’d think she would have noticed. She hadn’t even had a pregnancy scare in years, certainly not since she was stuck to wheelchair.

Speaking of which, her legs? They were perfectly fine. She could raise her knee and point her feet on command. It had to be a dream of some kind. The pain in her back was very real though, and she certainly felt like there was a small human growing inside her. It was, so, so, so disturbing. Who was the father even supposed to be? Dick?

It would definitely have explained all the blue around. She was in a fairly big room, but nothing like those back at Wayne Manor. It was spacious enough to be expensive, but not too spacious that it looked expensive. And there was a ring on her finger.

Pregnant and married, and she couldn’t remember any of it. This was starting to sound like the Hangover part IV. Only, Barbara knew that getting drunk rarely led to being miraculously healed and six month pregnant. Besides, when was the last time she had not remembered anything? She prided herself in that memory of hers, _thank you very much_. She was Oracle dammit! She knew everything!

Okay, so maybe she was breathing a bit too hard now. Where did they keep all the fresh air in this apartment? How did she get out of bed without toppling over due to the excess weight on her stomach? Could she even remember how to walk?

And was that a picture of Ted Kord and her on the night stand? Ted Kord who was shot and killed by Max Lord? 

That was it. Gotham had finally gotten to her. Watch out Arkham Asylum, Barbara Gordon had finally gone insane. The Joker would be proud.

**Ring!**

Barbara startled at the unfamiliar ringtone. There was a smartphone next to the photo, buzzing like a baby crying for attention. She picked it up, and noticed a mail notification from a Ted (was it Kord?) saying “ _@ Wayne trial. home around…_ ”

She’d have to unlock it to know the rest. The person calling the phone was more urgent. Being a Bat and being Oracle in particular, Barbara had little qualms about picking up someone else’s phone. She needed to know what the fuck was happening, and why there was a… A _baby_ (she shuddered) gesticulating inside her.

The caller ID read: Alex.

Barbara picked up the phone.

“Hello?” She asked tentatively.

“Hello, Barbara,” the voice at the other end greeted amicably, “how are you?”

Barbara knew that voice. Everyone knew that voice. That snug, arrogant, egomaniacal voice.

“Luthor,” she replied icily. Just when things couldn’t get weirder.

* * *

_The time sphere opened up, and there he was. It was evident there was something wrong with him, but it was just as obvious that he was real. Under that bright red lens, under that cape of sentient wires, under that mechanical suit — It was Batman. Not Dick, not Hush. It was Bruce. He was solid and, and real._

_Tim had started thinking his treasure hunt was endless. But he’d been right, and there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Bruce was coming home._

Pit pat. Pit pat. Pit pat.

Tim couldn’t tell what was beating faster; the sound of his heel or his heart. Bruce was in the Watchtower, only corridors away from him. And if Bruce was around, then he was already halfway home. He only had a few days before the trial, but he could do it. Sneaking around, breaking someone out of prison, that was so within the range of his skill-set, he was tempted to laugh. It was like the solution to everything was suddenly within reach.

He’d known Bruce was in this world too, but it just hadn’t truly registered until he’d been so close. Tim had made a career out of rescuing Bruce. From grief, from time, and now from prison. The seventeen year old was so used to operating on his own now, he’d almost forgotten how great it felt to fly under Batman’s wings, how great it was not to carry all the weight on his own shoulders.

_“Batman. It’s me. I knew you weren’t dead. I knew it.”_

The Watchtower central computer had said Bruce was being held only two floors down, and five turns away. Tim could still see the map in his mind — he could see himself get closer and closer to the goal. The holding cells weren’t exactly where he knew them to be, but the change was minimal. Just one extra door to remember. He could do that.

Tim ducked in a corner to hide from view as Green Lantern floated through the corridor he was in. There were four cameras there in total. Tim wiped out his phone to quickly calculate the trajectory of their scanning, and the path he could take to avoid them. It was basic work; something Bruce had taught him only weeks into training.

_“…I’m Bruce Wayne. Now it knows.” He said, and the words sent chills down Tim’s spine. He could see it in Diana’s eyes too. After so long, after having mourned him and struggled to move on, he was back. It was him. He was back. It was time for the world to get back on his level again. Batman would accept nothing less but the best from everyone, and that was much more exciting than the prospect of military discipline should have been._

Pit pat. Pit Pat.

Just a few more steps.

_The first truth of Batman, Bruce had written in his report, the saving grace: I was never alone. I had help._

Tim dusted the keypad for prints with ease, and cracked the password even quicker. The door slid open, revealing the rows of cells within.

Of _empty_ cells.

Tim was alone in the holding room.

“Wha—“ he stammered in disbelief, as his heart dropped.

“Expecting someone here?”

Tim swirled around in a fighting stance, his reflexes on edge.

Zachary Zatara was casually leaning on the wall behind him, cool anger in his eyes. Cassie, Kon and Bart were with him, the later looking horrified, and the former two painfully disappointed, but not surprised.

They’d known. Had Talia talked? Strategically, it made no sense. Was there something he was missing?

“Gorgon fed false information to the Central computer,” Cassie explained sombrely, “to see if you would really act on it.”

Tim couldn’t believe he’d fallen for such a basic trap. He had known they had considered him for a suspect when Queen had ‘interrogated’ him at the Watchtower, but he hadn’t imagined they had already cornered him so much. Sure, Tim hadn’t hidden his steps that well at first, but still. What were the chances of _both_ the League of Assassins and the Justice League coming to the same, erroneous conclusion? Tim wasn’t the traitor; that was a _fact_.

There was something very fishy happening.

“You’re too late,” Zach sneered, “Wayne’s trial is happening _right now_.”

“You don’t understand—“ Tim started, taking a step back.

“No,” Bart agreed harshly, stepping forward, “we don’t. What the hell, Tim? I thought we were friends!”

Were they going to kill Bruce now? Tim couldn’t let that happen. A trial meant a jury panel, and perhaps a few witnesses. It would happen in one of the larger spaces in the Watchtower. The meeting room perhaps? The cafeteria? The debriefing room? The meeting room. Definitely the meeting room. It fit the direction where Jordan was heading earlier and the trial would need to be formal and —

“Stop ignoring me!” Bart growled.

“I need to go,” Tim breathed, planning dozens of routes in his head, “you need to let me go.”

Zach snorted, “not a chance in Hell, you backstabbing bastard.”

“You don’t understand!” Tim snapped, “I don’t have time for this, dammit! I—“

Tim startled as Kon placed himself in front of his exit, looming over him with all of his height and muscles.

“We’ve tried to come up with excuses for you, Tim,” he gritted out, “but we’re _done_.”

Cassie and Bart were surrounding him on both sides, and Zach was keeping a careful distance so he could cast spells without obstacle.

Cassie stretched out her hand. “Give us your bow and quiver,” she told him angrily.

He could do this. He could totally do this.

Tim slid the bow off his shoulders, handed it to Cassie, and then took off his quiver as well, placing it in Kon’s hands.

“Thank you,” Cassie nodded, carefully controlling her emotions.

**clack!**

Tim had barely deployed the staff hidden in his sleeves that he’d already swept Bart from the floor and pushed him upwards. Bart was fast, but he couldn’t press gravity to make him fall faster. While he was in the air, Tim would always know his exact position, and it was much easier to knock him out with a blow to the head.

**thump!**

Bart fell unconscious on the ground, and the other’s had barely had enough time to widen their eyes. Before Cassie or Kon could realise that their hands were full and that they should probably drop his stuff to fight back, Tim slid between the two and locked his kryptonite bracelet on Kon’s ankle before dealing a heavy blow under his chin and another on straight in the middle of his chest.

“ _Ydeeps po — urk!_ ”

Tim blocked Zach’s throat with the end of his staff, pining him to the wall as well.

“Let him go, Tim!” Cassie growled, taking out her lasso, “You can’t take us all down by yourself! You know this! It’s pointless!”

Out of all of them, Cassie was the tricky one to take down. She didn’t have an obvious weakness to exploit like Kon, and she was otherwise invulnerable. The only solution was to appeal to her emotions by —

“Who says he’s alone?”

Or that.

Damian appeared hanging upside down from the ceiling, right behind Cassie, a knife and a plastic bottle threatening her face.

“It’s acid,” the kid clarified with a shark-like grin, “surely you remember what acid did to you at the warehouse.?”

Cassie blanched.

“Leviathan?” Kon croaked, from where he was trying to sit up. Fortunately, the kryptonite was keeping him down, and without his strength, he couldn’t break the bracelet. “You… You’re wo — working with… _Leviathan_?” Kon didn’t even bother to hide the disgust he had for the brat. The only thing keeping him from vomiting was probably that he was equally surprised Damian was alive.

“I’d say I’m sorry about this Zach,” Tim sighed, “but to be honest, I don’t really like you, so.”

Tim punched Zach in the nose, knocking him out as well.

Cassie cringed.

“Tim you… absolute… ass…” Kon managed painfully. There was real hatred in there, and Tim couldn’t blame him. Kon’s worst fear was betraying them for Luthor, and there Tim had done it all on his own.

Tim grabbed Cassie’s lasso, and started tying her up as Damian taunted her with his bottle of acid. He wasn't alone. He had help.

“You’ll regret this,” she promised him scathingly. He did believe that Cassie meant it, so Tim made sure to use all the complex knots Bruce had ever taught him. An angry Wonder Girl was very dangerous. Luckily, even she couldn’t break her own lasso.

“Ev… Everything you told me at the farm…” Kon grounded out, “was it… all a lie…?”

Tim paused. Had it been? Tim was tempted to say yes, since it had ultimately been part of the plan. However, the picture of Kon sitting with his shoulder hunched, wearing fake glasses and forcing himself to slave away at some literature report… It didn’t matter how dishonest his end-goal had been. He would have told his Kon the exact same words.

“You can keep the kryptonite,” he finally replied, “I have more where that came from. Robin,” he then addressed Damian, “we need to go, _now_.”

Damian nodded, and they both took off quickly, heading for the meeting room.

“Talia’s informant is called the Calculator,” Damian reported as they ran, “but I have found no proof he is the same man as in our world.”

The Calculator. That did not bode well. The Calculator they knew heavily outmatched Tim when it came to computers. He wasn’t at Oracle’s level, but he’d caused her enough trouble in the past to bedeemed a threat. In fact, Tim was pretty sure he’d read somewhere that the Claculator was Gorgon’s rival in this world too, and considering he was ninety-five percent sure Gorgon was Babs, it fit.

“I take it your infiltration at the League went without a hitch then?” Tim guessed.

“I wouldn’t really say that,” Damian grimaced, “I had an encounter with Cheshire, but that has been resolved. Speaking of which, there is something you should know about this world —“

“Wait,” Tim ordered, crouching behind a corner. Damian immediately came to a stop, like a good soldier, and Tim was slightly peeved by how this kind of behaviour came naturally for the brat.

There was something wrong with the acoustics around this corridor. It was too quiet, even for two Bats sneaking around.

And then suddenly the sound went back to normal, and with it, a metallic point poked the back of Tim’s neck.

“Sound cancelling device,” Ted Kord’s smug voice said, “makes it easy to sneak up on people.”

“Tim.”

Tim closed his eyes ruefully. Out of all the voices that could have come behind him, that was the last one he wanted to hear.

Oliver Queen had an arrow to his neck. Tim couldn’t turn around, but the sideways glance he cast at Damian was enough too tell that Beetle was holding some kind of weapon to his head too.

It just… It wasn’t fair. Tim couldn’t find it in him to care for Oliver Queen as he did for Bruce, but in this world? Oliver Queen was a damn fine father figure, and other Tim was so lucky to have him as a mentor. Out of everyone who had approached him, Oliver Queen had been the most considerate of his choices. He hadn’t handled Tim like glass. He had pushed him to go back out there. And when Tim had asked not to be treated with kid gloves? Queen had included him in the hunt for the traitor. Tim would have given anything for someone to have acted like that when he’d been looking for proof that Bruce was still alive.

Oliver Queen loved other Tim so much, it was painful to wedge a fissure in their relationship. This Queen didn’t deserve everything that was happening. He didn’t deserve to have a son turn against him, to think he’d have to choose between the law and his family.

But Tim didn’t deserve to lose Bruce either. Often, winning meant letting others lose.

Tim raised his hands in surrender, and Damian followed suit with a dissatisfied growl. Going against Young Justice was one thing, but Green Arrow and Blue Beetle were experienced Justice Leaguers, which meant they were on a whole new level. Tim wasn’t so arrogant as to think he could take them on in a direct fight. Besides, these two wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating them for being human.

* * *

The Justice League didn’t wait long to bring ‘justice’ to Bruce. They brought him, Steph, and Jason to the Watchtower’s meeting room immediately after catching them, and after thirty minutes of moving furniture, chaining Bruce to the centre of the room, stuffing Steph and Jason in a holding cell at the back, and spreading the word, the trial begun.

Acting as judge was the Manhunter, Kate Spencer, whose presence validated the trial in the eye of the law. Sitting next to her, in what was supposed to be an intimidating display, was the Justice League, missing Cyborg, the Green Arrow and the Blue Beetle, and with Green Lantern coming late. 

Mr. Miracle was standing by Steph and Jason’s holding cell, making it impossible for them to escape. The man knew every trick to get out of handcuffs and bars, and he could recognise them just as easily. Batman was a good teacher, but Mr. Miracle was the god of freedom, and not even Bruce could match his skill.

There were a few cameras around, probably for others to witness the moment. Jason guessed that the League wanted to avoid people in the audience taking action and thus limited the direct audience to themselves.

The trial of Bruce Wayne was done quickly. There wasn’t much to discuss; the evidence they had gathered over the past weeks was simply overwhelming, and Bruce wasn’t even trying to disprove anything. It wasn’t like he could, considering the chances that his counterpart had committed the crime was epically high. Still, even with Bruce’s compliance, it was clear the Justice League wanted to put this all behind them as quickly as possible. The sentence had been decided from the start, and the trial was nothing but a facade to reassure national authorities.

“Why isn’t he _doing_ anything?” Stephanie mumbled to herself over and over again, chewing on her hair nervously. Jason suspected she knew there was little he could do, but with Batman, it was so easy to think he always had a plan.

Batman always controlled the situation. He was the poster boy for taking your life into your own hands.

And yet there he was, forced to let the circumstances dictate his path.

“Bruce Wayne,” Diana spoke carefully, “you are being charged with the death penalty for the cowardly murder of the Justice Society of America. We will carry out the sentence once we have decided the fate of your accomplices.”

At the mention of them, Bruce, for the first time since the trial started, broke eye contact with his judges. His eyes went straight for Stephanie and Jason, and at first, they were so soft Jason was reminded of his Robin years. But they hardened too quickly, with that steely determination he had when he was about to do something that was most certainly going to get himself killed.

“Bruce—“ Jason tried to stop him, but Bruce didn’t let him.

“May I speak for myself?” The older Bat asked.

“Nothing you can say will overturn the sentence, Wayne,” Manhunter bluntly told him, “the evidence against you is rock solid. Even death is too kind.”

“I don’t wish to defend my innocence,” Bruce conceded, “but princess Diana of Themyscira has implied that I have no honour, and for that, I would like a chance to defend my name.”

“What is he doing?” Stephanie frowned.

Kate Spencer seemed to still, but it was clear that she was frowning under her mask. She was used to a court of law, where the punishment of criminals were decided. Courts like these rarely dealt with offended feelings as a justifiable argument.

“If you’re trying to make a joke,” she threatened Bruce, hand hovering over her weapon.

“I am not,” Bruce strongly insisted, “I, Bruce Wayne, would like to formally challenge princess Diana of Themyscira, Amazon warrior, for my honour.”

“Oh no,” Stephanie whimpered quietly, “please tell me this is not going where I think this is going.”

It was. It was definitely going there.

There was a wave of confusion and disbelief in the room.

Green Lantern snorted. “This is ridiculous,” he said, “what kind of medieval—“

“You're not an Amazon,” Wonder Woman reminded Bruce with warning in her voice. Hal, as well as the other Leaguers, suddenly abandoned all form of mockery. It was hard not to, when Bruce’s words had clearly unnerved their most powerful member. Diana had gone tense, and her sole focus was now the chained man in front of her. She was taking his words very seriously, and that meant there was more going on there than they were aware. “How you even know our ways—“

“You're an ambassador, princess,” Bruce argued, “your duty is to form a bridge between Man’s world and your own. Will you really refuse me a chance to stand up for myself simply because I am not one of your people? Will you really cement the wall between our people in that manner?”

Diana grit her teeth.

“This is a court of _law_ ,” the Manhunter reassured Diana, “his challenge doesn’t have any weight.”

“No. He’s right,” Diana accepted, fire still in her eyes, but a dignified calm surrounding her otherwise, "as an ambassador, I am honour-bound to recognise the challenge, and as a warrior, I must accept it or lose by surrender.”

Any smaller heart would have dismissed the words of an enemy so hated, but not Diana. It was perhaps what made her so admirable. She always considered her opponent, and offered them a rival’s respect. Bruce wanted to defend his name, and no matter how little she thought of him, she would offer an ear to his complaint.

Bruce knew that. Jason knew that Bruce knew that.

“Wait, does that mean that if he wins he goes free?” Hawkgirl asked, worried.

“No,” Diana replied with certainty, “the sentence has been decided and Bruce Wayne will be executed no matter the outcome. Should he win, I will owe him an apology. Are we clear on the terms, Bruce Wayne?”

“Yes.”

“An apology?” Hal repeated in disbelief, “That's it?”

“Watch yourself Lantern,” Diana warned, “these are the ways of my people that you are mocking.” She then turned to Bruce once more, “You have challenged me by my title as a warrior, I trust you know what that entails?”

“He can’t—“ Stephanie started, stumbling with her word in panic, “he can’t _possibly_ win this. He’s injured. He has no weapons. No gadgets. Even fully armed he can’t beat Wonder Woman in a one-on-one fight.”

“He’s buying us time,” Jason deduced angrily, “the fucker is buying us time. Batman’s not the best fighter around, but dammit if he’s not the most stubborn one.”

“But we can’t do anything!” Stephanie hissed.

“No,” Jason agreed ruefully, “we can’t. But at this point things can’t get any worse. Time can only help us.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“A very, _very_ desperate one.”

“We fight until surrender, incapacitation, or death,” Bruce clarified with a nod, without an ounce of fear on his face.

“Very well,” Diana nodded, “Your preferred weapon?”

“A sword will do."

* * *

Diana hated Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t the first to kill a superhero, or even a friend of hers, but no one had ever orchestrated a cold blooded, unwarranted, massacre like this. And on the JSA, no less. What he’d done— no one outside of the community could truly understand. They hadn’t had to watch Alan Scott mourn his daughter, or Shiera escort her soulmate’s body back to Thanagar. They didn’t have a surrogate son drowning in grief, even before he had to attend another series of funerals. They all saw symbols where Diana saw families, and they all saw brave, strong soldiers where Diana knew there was only good people trying to make the world a better place for everyone.

Part of her was disgusted he’d use her own culture against her. She didn’t know what his end point was, or if he had a trick that could somehow beat her, but if he was perverting her traditions in a bid to escape his judgement… 

But if he wasn’t?

Diana had called him a coward. She had allowed her emotion, her prejudice, to seep into her words. It was her mistake, her responsibility. And besides, the Bruce Wayne they had seen today had been strangely dignified. Maybe the prospect of death had grounded his superficial aspects, or maybe he'd always taken life more seriously than the tabloids let believe. Either way, Bruce Wayne had stood straight during his trials, he’d met their eyes like a man who owned up to his actions, and he hadn’t interrupted or begged once.

This Bruce Wayne, Diana could believe had honour. It had been erroneous to think there was nothing more to the business man that a silver spoon and hubris greater than the word was capable of describing. Fortunate men had pride as well.

Nevertheless, she truly found his crime to be cowardly, and she wouldn’t surrender to a man like him.

She strode back into the meeting hall, two swords and two torches in hand. No one had moved from their position in the five minuted she’d gone to her room.

“The torches are lit with blood fuelled Greek Fire,” she said, “Each of us will place a drop of blood on the head of the torch, and the flame will rise. Greek fire is fire protected by the gods; only the extinction of a flame signifies the end of the fight.”

Diana gave Hal a nod, and the Green Lantern reluctantly vanished Bruce Wayne’s chains. She offered her opponent one of the torches, which he grabbed without comment.

“This sword has been forged by Hephaestus,” Diana continued, handing it to Wayne as well, “it will hurt even gods if handled by a true warrior.”

“Diana—“ Barry contested.

“I will not engage in an unfair fight,” Diana justified herself, “if my weapon can draw his blood, then his should be able to draw mine as well. Shall we begin?”

“Make it quick,” Hal told her with a wink.

Wayne took a few steps backwards as a reply, leaving just enough space between them that it was appropriate for the start of a fight. He drew a drop of blood from the tip of a finger, and lit his torch as Diana did the same. Shiera reluctantly relieved them both of their torches, and placed them on the judge’s table, where the rest of the League was sat.

“You may begin,” Kate allowed, clearly uncomfortable with being the default referee.

**cling!**

Wayne hadn’t wasted time sizing up his opponent, which usually would have led Diana to believe he was inexperienced in a fight. But he was holding his sword correctly, much to her surprise, and his eyes were focused like he’d done this a thousand times before, which didn’t make sense, because when on Earth would _Wayne_ of all people —

**clang!**

Diana parried another swing, quelling her surprise and confusion.

He was coming at her fast, commandeering the fight by sheer force and speed. And Diana couldn’t retaliate, not until she could adjust her strength so she wouldn’t accidentally kill him. It was hard to get a read on him when he wasn’t allowing her a breather though.

Diana dodged, and tried sweeping his feet of the ground, but Wayne simply jumped over her leg and swiped at it while it was right under him.

First blood had been drawn. By Wayne.

“Wha—“ Diana stammered, but she was unable to give way to her disconnected mind, as Wayne charged once more.

She was stronger than him. Faster than him. She was raised a fighter and he, a business man. The difference in skill between them should have made it an easy win for—

But Wayne wasn’t letting her get a hit in. He was relentless and—

Diana snapped and kicked him in the gut, hard. Wayne was sent flying to the opposite wall of the hall, but he caught himself, kicked the wall away softly, and landed on his feet.

Diana let out a breath. Her heart was beating fast. She’d been caught between the pressure Wayne was putting on her as an opponent, and the limits she was imposing on her own strength. Diana wasn’t just someone who could go all out in every fight. She had immense power, and she was wise enough to know to adjust it to her opponent.

But Wayne had taken advantage of that. He’d known she needed time to assess the fight. He’d known she had to hold back completely by default because she couldn’t, she _wouldn’t_ allow herself to kill someone by mistake. He had _scared_ her into snapping still — and that, that showed he really was in control of the fight.

Had she snapped like this against any other opponent, they’d very likely be dead. Diana had just involuntarily tried to kill someone, and Wayne had made her do that.

Bruce Wayne, arrogant playboy, was leading their dance.

She’d underestimated him.

Wayne walked back to he centre of the stage. He was breathing hard, clearly having spent much more energy than Diana on the fight, and while he was hiding it extremely well, Diana’s hit had hurt him more than a bit. But he was smirking, and that must have been because he knew Diana had realised her mistake.

“Ever heard of the tale of the rabbit and the turtle?” He taunted.

Wayne was a swordsman, and a damn good one too. He was a warrior like her, and it was time Diana treated him as such.

She changed her stance, more guarded.

“I take it you’ve had some experience with a sword?” She replied.

Wayne didn’t answer, but it was clear that the fight was going to change pace. He lowered his sword slightly, inviting Diana to take the offensive. He too was more careful now, and it was proof his reckless strategy had been just that, a strategy. Wayne, wherever he learnt to fight, knew swordplay in very technical terms. His moves were calculated, and all that was left to find out was how good he was exactly.

“Important announcement!”

Diana and Wayne were both startled out of their battle trance by the voice of Blue Beetle strolling into the meeting hall loudly.

They stared at Ted. Ted stared back. “Huh,” he said, “I thought this was supposed to be a trial.”

Clearly, it looked nothing like a trial anymore.

“Wayne invoked ancient Amazon laws to which Diana is bounded by her warrior’s honour and now the trial is a gladiator death match with magic fire and god slaying swords,” Hawkgirl explained bitterly.

Ted narrowed his eyes like he was trying to find the joke in there. He finally just shook his head, and blinked the thought away. “Never mind. Normal superhero stuff, I guess. More importantly, we need to pause the trial."

There was urgency that was hard to miss in his voice. Diana turned to warn Wayne not to attack her during this time, but it seemed the man had no intentions of doing so. His sword was already lowered, and he had shifter his weight to one side, which made him more vulnerable. Diana wanted to hate him, she really did, but he was being strangely noble, and that was something she couldn’t overlook.

This whole trial was starting to feel off.

In fact, that she was reluctant to use lethal force at all in this fight showed that she wasn’t a hundred percent with the program. Wayne was going to be executed anyways. What kind of hypocrite was she that she couldn’t do it herself?

“Are you alright, Beetle?” Barry asked Ted. The question was warranted, as Ted was behaving a lot less comedic as usual.

Ted sighed, which was really not a good sign.

“Cyborg, Gorgon, Green Arrow, and I have been investigating a possible traitor in the community,” Ted told them tiredly, as if he wasn’t dropping a bomb on all of them. Why hadn’t Oliver told her?

“We think we’ve found him,” Ted continued solemnly, “we caught him — _them_ , trying to free Wayne from a fake location we made up as a bait. They, they took down Young Justice - By the way, Mr. M, if you’re free, Wonder Girl is stuck in her lasso. We weren’t sure if they’d be relevant to the trial so…”

“Who is it?” Shiera growled.

Ted grit his teeth, and looked at Diana with fear. Not for himself though, fear for her.

Oliver came in behind Ted, two kids cuffed in his hands. His expression was stone cold angry, and it was clear he was forcing himself to be strict and disciplined to avoid facing the kids he was holding.

Diana’s heart sunk.

“ _Tim_?” She asked. The boy avoided her eyes.

“Is that _Leviathan_?” Hal gaped, “I thought he was dea—“

“ _TIM_?”

Everyone turned to the holding cell, where the blond girl was pressing her face against the bars trying to get a better look at the new comers. The other prisoner had also stood up, though he as keeping calm.

For the first time since he’d walked in, Tim showed more than disgruntled acceptance.

“Steph?” He frowned, in confusion, “ _Jason_?”

“Holy shit, Tim!” The blond girl smiled, “and who’s the kid?”

“I will feed you your socks, Brown,” Leviathan scowled.

“Dami!” The girl beamed.

“Shut up!” Hal snapped, “Just, _shut up!_ "

The four kids immediately stopped their much too cheerful for the occasion reunion to look at Hal.

“What the fuck, Tim?” the Green Lantern swore, “how do you know them? Why is Leviathan alive? What is your connection to Wayne?”

“He's not very bright for a 'lantern', is he,” Leviathan scoffed.

Tim elbowed him.

“You faked Leviathan’s death,” Barry put together.

Oh thank Hera. Tim hadn’t killed the boy. Tim didn’t have blood on his hands.

But Tim had lied to them. Tim had deceived them. Tim had corrupted the truth.

Diana met Oliver’s eyes for an explanation, a reassurance, but there was none to found there. The thing she loved the most about Ollie, was that he was always very open with his opinions, and that if you looked carefully, his eyes spoke endlessly of his thoughts. And right now, his eyes were broken, and he was looking to Diana to hold him together.

Oh how she hated Bruce Wayne.

“We resume the fight,” she decided with renewed ire. Wayne wasn’t smirking anymore, and that alone made her happier than she had any right to be. “Beetle, keep Leviathan and Red Speedy away from Wayne's other accomplices.”

“Wait,” Tim interrupted, as if he wasn’t affected by Diana’s use of his title rather than his name, “what are you doing? Why are you fighting Bruce?”

Bruce. He called him _Bruce_.

“You can’t do that! He’s hurt — he’s bleeding!”

“Good,” Diana growled, turning back towards her opponent.

Wayne was bleeding, where she’d kicked him before. He was bleeding too much though for it to be her fault. The Soldier had said he’d been injured pretty gravelly prior to his capture. _Good_.

“Do you surrender?” She asked him.

Wayne glanced at Tim (he had no right, he had no bloody right, Diana thought to herself) and when he met her eyes, it was with renewed determination as well.

“Only in death,” he replied.

“Fine with me."

“Shit, _Bruce_!” Tim cried.

But his cry was drowned by the sound of metal clashing against metal. Diana wasn’t holding back anymore, and Wayne was meeting her with all he had.

Diana blocked his hits with her full strength, redirecting his blade with ease. She got a slice, two slices, three slices in him before the man jumped back. But she wouldn’t let him take a breather.

Diana charged fist first and slammed him to the wall. She listened to his grunt with satisfaction. There was a bruise forming on half of his face now, and blood pooling in his mouth. His previous injury had now soaked his whole shirt, and Diana found herself wishing it had been white, so she could have seen the blood more clearly.

“You will regret playing with my family,” she promised him.

“And you with mine,” Wayne spat back, twisting his body out of her hold expertly and stabbing her side in the process.

Diana recoiled, and jumped away.

The stab wound was painful, but it was shallow. In fact, Wayne was in a much worse shape in general. He shouldn’t even have been able to stand.

But he was still standing. And Diana had to rectify that.

She charged towards him once more, but this time, Wayne didn’t raise his sword. Instead he dropped it, and raised his fists.

Before she could register the change of weapon, Wayne sidestepped her attack, grabbed her arm, and pulled her downwards, before kneeing her in the gut and throwing her body sideways. He immediately took another stance, and waited patiently for her to get up and come back.

Well, she was happy to oblige.

Diana found herself on the floor once more. He was using her momentum against her. He was using her strength against her. Wayne wasn’t just a warrior — he was one of the best. He hadn’t just learnt swordplay through fancy fencing classes. Clearly, Wayne knew how to _fight_.

And he was still standing.

Without warning, Diana threw her sword at him. He managed to dodge the worst of it, but it still sliced his leg meanly. Wayne forced a shout down his throat.

But he was still standing.

And then it continued. The fight swung back and forth between Diana’s advantage and Wayne’s. Wayne changed fighting strategy and style like he flipped a light switch, and every change would destabilise Diana for a while, but the second she got the hang of it, Diana could get in as many punches as she wanted.

Wayne was tiring though. He hits were getting softer, and his reflexes slower. His focus never wavered, but his movements were hindered by injuries. His breath was getting difficult.

Diana was fine, if not slightly frustrated.

But he was still standing.

Wayne was all blue with bruises and red with blood. But he didn’t shout in pain. He didn’t surrender. He didn’t fall.

Why. Wouldn’t. He. _Fall_?

“Surrender.” She told him.

“No,” he replied blandly. There was a smirk threatening to surface there. He was almost dying — Hades, he was on the death row — and he wanted to smile. It was almost like he enjoyed it. The pain, the struggle.

The challenge.

With a yell, Diana charged again and again, intent on putting a stop to this. But Wayne wouldn’t fall. He just, wouldn’t fall. It was driving her mad.

He was just human. He was a scumbag. He’d never had to fight for _anything_ in life.

Out of patience, Diana tackled him to the ground. They both landed on the hard metallic floor of the Watchtower violently.

Diana stood up. He didn’t.

Wayne managed to sit up, but his body didn’t want to help him further.

Yet his flame didn’t die. The gods wanted her to end this.

Diana raised her arm for a final blow. She breathed. And then she swung down.

**Clang!**

A sword stopped hers. But it wasn’t Wayne’s. No, it was a sword she was much more familiar with. One that she had had crafted for a loved one. It had been a gift to symbolise kinship. Sisterhood. And there was no one she trusted more than its owner.

And yet, its owner was standing between her and Wayne.

“Step aside, Donna,” Diana begged her sister, “I _need_ to finish this.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Donna replied with both sadness and determination, “you’re better than this, Diana. I _know_ you.”

As if snapping out of a trance, Diana blinked and looked around. The other Leaguers were fighting other heroes like Donna, who had come in sometime during her fight with Wayne. She recognised Barry’s nephew, the white flash, Starfire, Cyborg - a teammate of hers, and Arsenal - another son of hers. They had nothing in common, save for their close ages, but they were cooperating like they had gone through hell and back together.

The only one she didn’t recognise was a young man in a simple hoodie behind Donna, a young man with his upper face smudged by black makeup, and who was helping Wayne up.

The young man scoffed at Diana as he wrapped Wayne around his shoulders, “What? No hello? How are you? Hashtag _Rude_.”

What the Hades was happening?

“You’re late, Dickface!” Jason Todd shouted from his cell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might be the longest chapter yet, but to be fair, the Diana/Bruce fight was one of the first elements for this story I came up with, so. (I'm curious: who had noticed Babs might have been pregnant in her previous interactions with others?)
> 
> Next up: Dick saves the day, but life really hates Tim. Damian has gone far since his days of blowing up Tim with decapitated heads of criminals. Also, Batman v Superman: primary school recess version.


	13. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is really, really out of the loop. That's what happens when you go on a road trip while everyone else is playing everyone else. On the bright side, everyone is just as confused about the mysterious Nightwing, possible Kryptonian, possible seer, or maybe just a troll.  
> Also, has 13 chapters of saving each others asses built some kind of bridge between Tim and Damian?

“— escaped,” Hawkgirl was saying in the screen, “we know you don’t want to be part of this trial, but we’re hoping you’ll help us find them.”

“Of course,” Clark agreed, “call me if you need anything else.”

“Thank you Superman,” Hawkgirl sighed in relief, “this means more to us than you can imagine.”

“It's fine,” Clark dismissed, “how are Wonder Woman and Green Arrow holding up? Red Speedy’s defection must have shook them.”

Hawkgirl bit her lip, “They’re… They’re coping. Neither of them are really talking about their feelings right now.”

“I see.”

“Well, I’m going to go help clean the mess, but really, thanks for everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

The screen blacked out. Clark allowed his shoulders to sag. He was genuinely worried about Wonder Woman and her husband, and he knew that there was more to it than ‘coping’, however… Well, he could understand Hawkgirl’s reluctance at sharing the information. It was too personal, and Superman’s relationship with other heroes had always been purely professional.

This whole trial thing was becoming a headache, and Clark didn’t often get headaches. Wasn’t it enough that so many brave souls had to die? Why did they have to compromise their souls as well? Why did things have to become so _grey_ , so complicated?

Clark sighed as he turned to where the footsteps were coming from.

“Honey, I’m ho~ome!” A ruffled Nightwing sing-sang as he walked in, carrying the weight of a banged up billionaire. Banged up didn’t really cover it to be fair. At this point, he was more bruise and cuts than human.

“Superman,” the billionaire greeted gruffly.

“Wayne,” Clark returned, just as coldly.

* * *

The not-Titans were all crammed inside Wally’s apartment in Keystone city when Donna had come with news of Bruce’s capture. 

“And you’re a hundred percent sure you don’t know any Beast Boy?” Dick was asking again, drinking apple juice on Wally’s sofa.

“Yes,” Roy confirmed once more with an eye roll, “I'm pretty sure we don’t have any green shape-shifters running around.”

Dick frowned, “What about Martians?”

“There’s life on _Mars_?” Wally asked, eyes widening as he swallowed the rest of his sandwich and zapped from the kitchen to the sofa.

Dick stared at him.

“Huh.”

The differences between this world and his were whimsical at best. Some things were exactly the same, and others were just plain weird. He could understand how Sasha Bordeaux would end up as the police commissioner in Gotham, but then he’d found that Vicky Vale was a janitor at LexCorp, and that Max Lord served fries at Red Robin’s. And now, apparently, the Martians had never found refuge on Earth. Where were they then? Apokolips? What even.

His old team was more or less the same, except that they’d never been a team, and that Raven was a recluse who played video games all day every day. Literally. She wasn't coming with them because it involved leaving her room. Donna and Cyborg seemed to be good friends, and they all generally went along just fine but… But they were like colleagues who took the same bus and never spoke at work, like students in the same year but in different classes. They were strangers who just knew each other’s names.

Kory hadn’t even met any of the others save for Raven before Dick had gathered them.

“Nightwing,” Wally urged, “answer me, is there life on Mars? It’s important.”

“How would _I_ know?” Dick replied with a raised eyebrow.

Wally narrowed his eyes, “You totally know. You know everything. You knew who I was! I bet you’re some kind of magic seer.”

“Eh. Why not,” Dick shrugged with a malicious grin.

“Argh!” Wally groaned, nearly tearing his hair. It was eating him up that Dick never answered any question about himself straightforwardly, and Dick was enjoying it way too much. “Fine! Be that way! Keep your secrets, Mr. tall, dark and mysterious! I honestly don’t know why we trust you.”

“Because Raven vouched for him,” Kory answered the rhetorical question, looking confused as to why Wally was asking it.

“To be fair,” Roy pointed out, “the only thing she did say was that he had really good intentions, and that he was one of the purest hearts she’d ever seen. She didn’t say _anything_ about his intelligence. What if he’s really stupid and leads us all to our deaths?”

“I'm _right here_ ,” Dick huffed.

“Well we wouldn’t doubt your intelligence if you would just explain why _us_ ,” Roy unapologetically returned, “I mean, you could have just broadcasted your speech to every hero; surely we wouldn’t be the only ones to agree that the Justice League shouldn’t do the whole jury/executioner thing.”

Dick was tempted to tell them the truth; that he’d known exactly which words to tell each of them to convince them. That he trusted their integrity, and their hearts. Maybe Roy just didn’t realise what exactly he had convinced them to do. They believed Bruce had _slaughtered_ some of their friends and families, and no general motivational speech should have moved them enough to mount a rescue mission for him. It had to be personal. It had to strike at their soul.

In a way, he was using them. Except, that wasn’t completely true. It didn’t matter which world he was in, people who called themselves heroes, who devoted their lives to others and to justice, just couldn’t take so much power in their hands. It could have been Bruce’s conditioning speaking in his head, but it was something Dick had truly grown to believe in. Something he cared about. And he couldn’t stand the idea of heroes becoming dictators. It corrupted everything he had ever worked for. Everything he prided himself in. Everything his friends and family stood for.

He may only be passing, but if he could save a bit of this world’s soul, it would be enough.

“I don’t know,” Vic added in, doubtful, “even if he did explain, I’m not sure we should trust him.” The Cyborg was standing as far from Dick as possible while being in the same room, arms crossed.

“Do you not believe Raven?” Kory wondered as she hovered in front of the window, caressing a potted plant that stood there.

“I wouldn't be here if I didn’t,” Vic replied, “hell, she’s the _only_ reason I’m here. I just won’t ignore that there’s a blatant connection between Wayne and Nightwing; he’s not even trying to hide it.”

Dick sighed.

“Look, I know how this looks,” he admitted, meeting Vic’s eyes, “but I’ve bargained my _soul_ with Raven, what more can you ask for? I’ll take Bruce into hiding, and at any time that you want, I’ll tell you where he is. I don’t want him dead, and you don’t want the JL to kill him. It’s a regular trade.”

“I’m more worried about the fact that you seem to know a lot about us,” Vic pointed out, “things that you shouldn’t know, and that we know nothing about you. Raven vouches for you, but I fail to see how an associate of Wayne wouldn’t give him that information for misuse.”

“Well if I haven’t before,” Dick argued, “why would I now?”

“That's a fair point,” Wally conceded.

“Tell me one thing, and I’ll trust you,” Vic negotiated, “who’s the traitor?”

What traitor?

“What traitor?” Kory asked. Thank god for Kory.

“Someone within the community has been helping Wayne,” Vic explained, “who is it?”

Everyone turned to Dick, and the pressure had never been this high to answer a question. Roy and Wally seemed distinctively shocked at the news, while Starfire looked more worried. Dick had absolutely no clue who the traitor was.

“Is it Red Speedy?” Vic insisted.

Red Speedy? Wasn’t Speedy usually already red? What the hell was a Red Spee —

“Tim?” Roy whispered in disbelief, “he wouldn’t—“

“Tim, Tim _Drake_? Tim Drake is Red Speedy?” Dick blurted out. What kind of stupid name was Red Speedy?

“Pshhh! _Nooo_!” Wally denied unconvincingly, “Whywouldyouthinkthat?"

“So it _is_ Tim,” Vic concluded murderously.

“It can’t be!” Roy denied vehemently.

“Oh boy,” Dick muttered, realising that some really messed up stuff had happened while he had been gathering his friends. From Roy’s reaction, it was clear he was close to Tim and that other-Tim must overall be a good guy, and Dick knew better than to think it was a coincidence that Tim was thought to be a traitor at the same time where Dick and Bruce were brought from another world.

Tim was here too. And he was wrongly suspected of being an accomplice to the massacre.

But with a massacre of this scale, there was no way other-Bruce, if he truly was the culprit, had done it without inside help. Which meant there _was_ a traitor, that it probably _wasn’t_ Tim, and that that Tim’s investigation was distracting the JL from the _true_ threat. And if the true threat was still out there, what was stopping another massacre from happening? This whole qui pro quo was ridiculously toxic. Seriously, that kind of stuff only ever happened to superheroes.

Donna barged in at that moment.

“They have him,” she rushed, “the trial is ongoing right now. Let’s go!”

“Good,” Dick breathed, grabbing the broken pipes he’d been using as a weapon these past weeks, “Vic, do what you want, but there’s a huge misunderstanding, and the JL might to do something they will really regret if we don’t get there soon.”

He locked eyes with Roy, “This is not what it looks like, Tim is _not_ a traitor. _Trust me_.”

The good thing about his choice of team, was that one of them was a Justice Leaguer, and that three others were close enough to Justice Leaguers to have access to the Watchtower and invite Dick and Starfire in. Infiltration level: walking through the front door.

The other good thing, was that Bruce’s trial was to be executed before word even got out that he’d been caught. Only trustworthy heroes knew, and that meant that the security wasn’t that high. In fact, the Watchtower was practically empty with everyone invited gathered in the meeting hall to carry out ‘justice’.

They did come across the Teen Titans - Well, Young Justice in this world apparently - in the medical bay, where Mr. Miracle was untangling Wonder Girl from her own lasso.

“What happened?” Donna had asked.

“Tim and Leviathan did this,” Cassie spat angrily, and yes, Dick could believe he had. Nice job, Timbo. Who was Leviathan again?

Roy and Vic turned to him, one asking reassurance and the other looking to catch him lying.

“You don’t understand,” Dick insisted, “We don’t have time for this—“

“Funny,” Kon scoffed, looking a bit green, “Tim said exactly the same thing. Who are you?”

“Nightwing,” Dick replied shortly, “and we need to _go_.”

“Where are you going?” Mr. Miracle asked, worried.

“There's an emergency,” Roy lied, “you need to stay here to protect Young Justice, we’ll go help the League.”

Mr. Miracle nodded, newly alert, “Of course. Be careful. Shout if you need backup!”

Fat chance.

They ran to the meeting room, but Dick stopped them before they could get in.

“Wait,” he said, “I need to tell you one thing before we part ways.”

“ _Now_?” Wally asked, “This is not the best time!”

“We might not have another,” Dick explained quickly, “there’s something happening in your community. Vic is right, there _is_ a traitor, and you should find out who it is as quickly as possible. Tim’s behaviour is weird, and there’s a perfectly innocent reason for that, but he’s being framed. Don’t let the fake leads distract you. It’s not him. You have to believe that.”

“I believe you,” Roy nodded without hesitation, “I believe Tim.”

“Why would you tell us this?” Vic asked with narrowed eyes.

“There is a lot more to this story than you think,” Dick confessed, “People are not who they appear to be and there is a completely unrelated phenomenon happening that has tangled up with this whole mess in the most confusing and unfortunate of ways possible.”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Kory admitted.

“Same,” Wally agreed.

“In short?” Dick resumed, “there's a third side in this war. A very, confused, third side. Now let’s go save Bruce’s neck and the Justice League’s integrity in one heroic swoop.”

And so they did. Well, it wasn’t really heroic, but it definitely was quite the swoop. Except that first part where they kicked down the door and then stared at the ongoing gladiator match in confusion.

“Wally?” the Flash asked upon seeing the not-Titans, “What are you doing here?”

“The Justice League can’t kill Bruce Wayne,” Wally explained, “we won’t let it happen.”

“What?”

“What are you going on about?” Green Lantern asked, looking at the very edge of his patience, “and who’s that?”

“This is wrong,” Donna explained, looking at her sister in horror, “this should not be happening.”

Diana was fighting Bruce, and that was the softest way to put it. Both Diana and Bruce were at each other’s throat, fighting almost savagely. Dick could see that Bruce was taunting her almost childishly, that he continually challenged her to kill him, tempted her to break her values just to prove that he was the better man. And it was working. Diana was losing patience and restraint as the fight went on, and already she was using moves that she’d normally never even consider against a human.

Neither of them had even noticed the not-Titans coming in.

“Tim!” Roy gasped next to him, and Dick’s attention was diverted to the kids held up by Green Arrow and Blue Beetle next to the judge’s table. Tim turned towards Roy’s voice, and he spotted Dick just as soon. 

There was another kid next to him, in black ninja garb, and with a permanent scowl on is face. Dick had never seen him before, but he could easily recognise the spark of hidden relief that lit in his eyes upon seeing him. Damian.

“Break Hal’s concentration!” Tim shouted at him, startling Green Arrow and Blue Beetle. He gestured at his arms to show the green chain constructs.

“What—“ The Manhunter stammered from the judge's table, still unaware that the not-Titans were here as a hostile force.

Dick took out his improvised escrima sticks to attack Green Lantern, but a powerful shot of light beat him to it.

“No one should be held in chains against their will,” Kory growled angrily, before diving after Hal, whom she had sent to the opposite side of the room. Diana and Bruce didn’t even spare a thought at the Green Lantern flying above their heads.

“And there goes diplomacy,” Wally sighed.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hawkgirl bellowed, taking out her mace to attack Kory.

Cyborg stopped her with a well aimed shot.

“You too?” She spat, betrayed.

“Just stop the trial,” Vic told her, “we can end this peacefully. No one has to get hurt.”

“I won’t let him walk.”

“But you don’t have to kill him.”

As Cyborg and Hawkgirl faced against each other, Roy immediately rushed to Tim’s aid.

“Let him go!” He ordered his former mentor.

“I can’t, Roy,” Green Arrow replied painfully, “I can’t. He’s not — He betrayed us!”

The Flashes were already chasing each other in blurs of red and white.

Dick felt a movement to his right, and immediately ducked and blocked the hit.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Manhunter asked him, having jumped over the table.

“Nightwing,” Dick introduced himself with a charming smile, “Pleasure.”

She didn’t have Azrael’s gauntlets, but Dick knew better than to underestimate her still. Swiftly, Dick somersaulted over her head, startling her by the height of his jump. Her armour protected all her vital spots, and her staff’s blasts could do quite a bit of damage, but Dick had studied Oracle’s files on her, and he knew where the weak spots in the armour were.

He hit her jaw with one of his sticks as she turned to face him and hooked his fingers in the collar of her suit, tugging at it just enough to displace the protective plate at the back of her head, before hitting there.

Kate Spencer fell unconscious.

Diana was going to execute Bruce.

“Donna!” Dick shouted, startling Troia out of her disturbed trance. He couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t everyday one saw Diana perverted like this.

Donna dashed and stopped her sister’s sword just in time, and Dick slid right behind her to get to Bruce.

“B?” He asked, kneeling to meet him at eye level.

“Dick?” Bruce croaked, and there was genuine surprise in his eyes. Dick would have understood confusion, but surprise?

“Come on, we need to get you out of here,” Dick urged. Bruce was in real bad shape. Rarely had Dick seen him as hurt as this. There weren’t many people who could hurt him as much, and most of those would rather help him. But this — Bruce was barely conscious. His eyes were glazed, and his limbs practically hanging from their sockets. He couldn’t even speak properly, and a Batman who wasn’t criticising others just wasn’t Batman.

Part of him was scared. Because if Diana could do this to Bruce, then what chance did he have at beating her? But another part was angry. He had once admitted to Alfred that he wanted to hurt people just for thinking bad thoughts about Bruce when he’d been framed for murder by Cain.

Dick closed his eyes for a second. Bruce was out. It was his job to make sure Damian and Tim were safe.

“Th’ fight,” Bruce mumbled.

Typical. Why was he like this?

Dick noticed Diana’s eyes fall on him, looking just as pale as her sister.

“What?” He asked, feeling a bit vindictive, “No hello? How are you? Hashtag _Rude_.”

“You’re late, Dickface!”

Dick turned around to see a holding cell he hadn’t noticed at first, in which stood Stephanie and… Jason. Of course. Because things already weren’t complicated enough.

While Donna was still arguing with Diana, Dick dragged a limping Bruce (he was honestly amazed the man could still _limp_ ) towards that holding cell. Jason and Stephanie’s hands were free, and Jason was already working on the cell’s lock.

“Dick!” Stephanie sighed in relief, “Oh my God, I love you so much right—“

“Sorry, no time,” Dick apologised sincerely, “can we trust him?” He tilted his head towards Jason.

“Yeah, speak like I’m not there,” Jason hissed, still focused on the lock.

“I do,” Stephanie replied, surprisingly defensive of the older Robin, “and so does B. They have a temporary truce going on.”

Dick didn’t like this. Bruce wasn’t objective when it came to Jason, and he wasn’t sure how much he could trust Stephanie’s judgement of him. Still, they had no time for this, and as much as it galled him, Dick was going to have to take an enormous leap of fate. Enormous.

“Alright,” Dick conceded, “Jason, I’m going to need your help carrying Bruce. Also, call me Nightwing.”

“Well, B’s down, so I guess this makes you the boss, boss,” Jason agreed sarcastically, intentionally _not_ calling him Nightwing. Despite the spikes in his words, he did slide out of the cage and duck under Bruce’s other arm. Stephanie followed after him.

“What took you, Gray—“ Damian reproached as he appeared next to them, with Tim in tow. Green Arrow and Blue Beetle were being held back by Roy and Kory, Hal being down for the count.

“Nightwing,” Dick hastily corrected, before giving them all a bright smile, “I'm glad everyone’s okay.”

Tim gave him an unconvinced look and Dick suddenly remembered the man he was carrying.

“Well, alive,” he amended.

“Anyone else we should be rescuing right now?” Dick then asked to make sure there wasn’t another dimensionally displaced superhero somewhere. Wouldn’t want to abandon a confused G’nort or something.

“About that—“ Damian started.

A loud blast interrupted the kid. The Flashes had caused some kind of weird reaction, and a spherical forcefield that looked dangerously close to exploding was forming in the middle of the hall.

“Is it urgent?” Dick prompted Damian.

“No,” the eleven year old replied, “Let's go.”

“What about the Titans?” Tim asked as they ran towards the door, Jason and Dick completely lifting Bruce of the ground.

“They're staying,” Dick informed them, “the plan was just to hold back the JL until we could get away. The rest of the conflict should only be done through lengthy discussion.”

They reached the teleports, which Vic had preset at the location Dick had asked. They slipped into the tubes, Dick chanting ‘come on come on come on…’ like he was late for something and the elevator was slow.

They zapped away to some rooftop, where a helicopter was waiting for them.

“Get in!” Dick urged as they ran across the rooftop. 

Without being told, Tim, Stephanie and Damian automatically fell in formation, watching Dick and Jason’s back as they dragged Bruce to the helicopter.

They managed to roll Bruce’s body in the helicopter, and Dick started strapping him in while Jason took command of the helicopter. They both knew Jason was the better driver.

“Steph!”

Dick turned around just in time to see Tim pushing Stephanie out of the way of a net arrow, shot by the Green Arrow who had followed them through the teleports. The net incapacitated Tim immediately, saussaging him to the ground with a grunt.

“ _Go_!” Tim ordered Stephanie, just as Dick shouted “Steph!”

Stephanie ran for the helicopter, and jumped in. Jason had started the engine, and it was already taking off.

“B needs medical attention, we don’t have time for this!” Dick gritted his teeth, banging a fist against the wall of the helicopter.

Damian seemed to hesitate between Tim and the helicopter, but Mr. Miracle appeared in the teleport, and Tim urged him to leave.

“I’ll be fine!” Tim told him, “Go without me! Take o—“

Tim’s shout were muffled as the Green Arrow dragged him back to the teleport.

“Damian!” Dick shouted. Damian clicked his tongue and ran for the helicopter, stretching out his hand as he jumped. They were already in the air, but if Dick stretched far enough —

The second Dick grabbed Damian’s hand, he felt something off. Dick’s head snapped down. It was strange seeing a stranger’s face and knowing Damian was behind there. Yet, his scowl, his demeanour, made it all so easy. Dick searched Damian’s eyes for any sign of hesitation or reluctance, but he found none.

“Are you sure?” He asked the younger bird. There was no lightness in his tone, no teasing Dami about his choice. This was important.

Damian nodded with certainty, “He's too pathetic left alone.”

The words were mean, but there was an unmistakable fondness under the spikes.

Dick couldn’t help but smile, “He’s… Heh. I’m proud of you, kiddo, I really am.”

“Tt,” Damian clicked his tongue, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

And then Dick let go, and Damian fell, crashing straight into Mr. Miracle who was flying after them. Dick could already picture the kid biting him to allow for the helicopter to escape.

“What the _fuck_ Dick?” Stephanie cried, rushing to the edge of the helicopter. Dick had to hold her back so she wouldn’t jump after the kid. “Let me go!”

“It's fine,” Dick reassured her, steering her back inside.

“Fine?” Stephanie scoffed, “You just abandoned Dami to the Justice League, and Tim too, and —“

Stephanie paused as Dick stretched a small object towards of her face. Her sudden silence caught Jason and Bruce’s attention as well.

“Is that…?” Stephanie started, cupping the object in her hands.

“It’s a comm. piece,” Dick confirmed, “Damian’s. I’m guessing Tim has the other. Damian has the right idea; The Justice League won’t hurt kids and we really can’t afford to waste time with Bruce in this state. They should be able to contact us when it’s safe or, worst case, we can always come up with a plan to break them out once B is out of trouble. In the meantime, Jason, take us to the Fortress of Solitude.”

“Yes, _boss_."

* * *

Clark wasn’t sure if he’d been crazy or not to accept the young man’s alliance. He didn’t know anything about him, save for that nickname of his which he wasn’t sure how he felt about. Nightwing, a Kryptonian legend, He should have been offended by the blatant cultural appropriation, but how could he have known about that story without some kind of link to Krypton? He was human as far as X-Ray vision could tell, but he seemed so much more. Maybe it was the ease with which he talked to people, the ease with which he seemed to live.

Besides, Nightwing was right. The Justice League just couldn’t execute Wayne. It was wrong. It felt wrong. They were better than this, all of them, and Clark couldn’t believe he’d agreed to it, even for only a few days.

Clearly Wayne had people who cared for him, and while Clark thought he deserved punishment, they certainly did not.

Nightwing had told him Wayne already knew about the Fortress anyways, and he could only believe him since the young man had come knocking at this door himself. So when he walked in with Wayne, Stephanie Brown, and Jason Todd, Clark was only mildly miffed.

“You should be safe here,” Clark told Wayne.

“I don’t doubt that,” he slurred, “they don’t even know your name.”

It was a simple fact, and a true one. So why did it feel so much like an insult? There was something akin to mockery in Wayne’s tone.

“And?” Clark prompted, clearly annoyed.

“S'not a reproach,” Wayne replied calmly, “I wouldn’t trust them either.”

“Bruce,” Nightwing chided, but Clark was curious to see what stupidity Wayne wanted to say.

“I should warn you, just because I don’t agree with how the League wants to handle your case, doesn’t mean that I’m not on their side.” Clark replied, “This is as much your prison as it is your safe house."

“I'm not insulting them. I’m simply statin' facts.”

“The Justice League are admirable people.”

“They're hyp — hypocrites,” Wayne corrected haughtily. A vein popped on Clark’s forehead. “They call th’mselves heroes but they think th’mselves gods.”

“As opposed to you?” Clark hissed, “The Justice League advocates freedom as well as safety.”

“They _kill_ ,” Wayne replied, and there was all the weight of his heart behind those words. _So do you_ , Clark was tempted to answer in outrage, but he could feel that was not the argument at hand.

“Only you,” Clark said instead, “only because you’ve forced their hand.”

“One is enough,” Wayne spat, anger seemingly giving him more energy, “they can’t just make exceptions to the rules they impose themselves!”

“Yeah, I’m gone,” Jason Todd said, walking out of the room.

By context, it was evident Wayne was bitter he couldn’t get away with his crime. Yet Clark sincerely doubted that. The way he spoke and searched Clark’s eyes as he did indicated he wanted a real debate, that he wanted the Justice League to justify their own actions. It wasn’t his life he was angry about, it was the corruption of their ideal. Why?

“Doing nothing would have started a riot,” Clark told him, remembering the arguments that had convinced him in the first place, “you made a lot of people angry.”

“A riot can be controlled,” Wayne answered him with certainty, “a death cannot be taken back. Blood does not wash.”

“There is no way a superhero riot wouldn’t have collateral,” Clark reasoned, slightly taken aback by Wayne’s clear cut view of the world. 

“Then they shouldn’t be heroes,” Wayne concluded, as if the answer was that simple, “even the Watchmen must be watched — control your people. This only happened because no one is supervising vigilante activity.”

“You reproach the Justice League of being dictators,” Clark scoffed, “and yet you want them to go all Big Brother on their friends?”

“Wearing a symbol means making promises,” Wayne said, “it’s a choice. Restraints come with choices. Being born is not one."

**Thump**.

Clark blinked. Wayne was lying face down on the floor. For a second, he was really confused. Then, he remembered that Wayne had just come back from being shot thrice, a one-on-one fight with Wonder Woman, and a daring escape, and that with injuries like these, he was supposed to be very dead.

What the heck was Wayne even?

He’d completely forgotten the guy was human. He’d always prided himself in the amount of control he had over his anger, and Wayne had completely destroyed it. What had he been _thinking_ coming off so strongly against a human? Clark almost wanted to apologise, but at this point, he wasn’t sure what for.

Nightwing sighed.

“Don't worry,” the young man reassured him with an exasperated grimace, “he does that.”

Clark was more than a little disturbed.

“Pass out in the middle of a conversation?”

“That, he does surprisingly rarely considering what state he’s in usually,” Nightwing conceded, scooping up the unconscious billionaire. 

Stephanie Brown stepped up to help him. “He meant pissing people off,” she clarified with a tired smile, “It’s a natural talent of his. You should see how much the board of directors at WE loathes him. A true masterpiece.”

* * *

Tim was settling in comfortably in a corner of his cell when he heard the one next to him open up to admit a new prisoner. Had someone else been caught? He opened his eyes to see Mr. Miracle throwing Damian in the neighbouring cell. Damian.

The Justice Leaguer glared at Tim before leaving. Tim didn’t fail to notice the bite marks around his suit.

“Drake,” Damian greeted, dusting himself.

“How are you here, Damian?” Tim asked. He was so sure he’d given Damian a window to escape.

“I’m here to help you get out, of course,” Damian replied as if it was obvious, “we should assign you a permanent babysitter to ensure you stop putting yourself in these ridiculous situations. Also, I needed to tell you something about this world—”

“I can handle it on my own, thanks,” Tim glowered.

“You don’t have to,” Damian tentatively answered.

“What is this? You don’t even like me, Damian,” Tim pointed out irritably.

“I do not hate you, Timothy,” Damian contradicted him, sounding almost offended.

Okay, that did startle Tim.

“Maybe I did at first,” the eleven year old amended with a tilt of his head. He turned away from the camera in the cell and spoke quietly so only Tim could hear, “because father and Grayson trusted you when they wouldn’t let me out of their eyesight. You were nobody and I was the son of Batman and the Heir to the League of Shadows. And yet, Grandfather talked about you with respect - he actually saw you as a worthy opponent whereas I was just a child - a _pet_ \- he was grooming. I hated that you stood where I was supposed to stand - that I would have to measure up to you and compete with your history. I could tell no one took me seriously and it hurt and the more it did, the more aggressive I grew in retaliation. But you - you, everyone listens to.”

“Dami—“ Tim tried interrupting, a bit distraught at the sudden confession. Why was Damian suddenly spouting his heart?

“I know that’s wrong now. I had no right to assume love would be given to me; it had to be earned. Blood… Blood is _all_ I share with him,” Damian admitted in a small voice, as if he was scared Tim would actually hear what he was trying to tell him.

Tim was so used to hearing him speak that word with pride, that he almost couldn’t believe the frustration Damian had bundled it in this time. He could still remember the kid proclaiming that his blood was what made him so much better than Tim, and there he was now, confessing it was the only thing keeping him from being worthless. Blood had gone from the pedestal he stood on, to the last thread holding him.

Blood — Blood that he didn’t have in this world. Damian had lost his only connection to the family he’d chosen.

Dick was right; Damian had grown. And all this time, Tim had stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

“Damian,” Tim started again, subconsciously softening his voice.

“No, Drake,” Damian disallowed, “you don’t understand. He loves you all, he respects you. That’s why he keeps you. Me? I am his obligation. His responsibility. He _choose_ you; but he _has_ to put up with me.”

His words pinched Tim’s heart with pity. Damian kept making it so easy to forget he was only eleven, and no eleven year old should be questioning their father’s love like Damian was. But this was Bruce they were talking about, and Bruce had a talent of making people feel like he loved everyone else too much, and them not enough.

“Dam—“

“That’s why I cannot leave you alone,” Damian finished, “they _need_ you, Drake, and you need them. You share something that I can never hope to match, and I can’t allow you to throw it away for some act of martyrdom—”

Martyrdom. Wait. Was Damian under some kind of assumption that Tim had self-destructive tendencies? Was he trying to cheer him up? To reassure him?

“You’re so wrong it’s not even funny,” Tim bluntly said, “do you even know how I became Robin?”

Damian frowned, “you found out who father was and he took you in.”

Tim laughed hollowly, “Not even close. I annoyed Dick into returning to the scaly hotpants, and than I annoyed B into taking another Robin, and then I forced myself into the costume against his wishes. B didn’t choose me, Damian, I _harassed_ him into it. We all came to him through circumstances.”

Damian blinked, “I… wasn’t aware of that.”

“And maybe to you it looks like people listen to and respect me,” Tim continued, finding his throat tightening — he’d never told anyone this, “but they don’t, and right now, I kind of really hate them for it.”

“I — I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’m not suicidal or reckless, Damian,” Tim corrected him, “you said I’m acting like a martyr, but I’m really not. I just — I just can’t stand it anymore. To be honest, I’ve lost faith that anyone is willing to take me seriously enough to work with them. I mean, do you know how it feels like to know something, to shout it on every rooftop, and to be ignored? To be _dismissed_? In greek mythology, it was called a curse when it happened to the Oracle Cassandra, a God given _punishment_.”

Tim took a breath, “Everything is fine now. But if no one had come around, Bruce might never have come home. And, and it’s not just that. I can’t just _forget_ that it happened. All of my friends, my family, and _not a single person_ trusted me enough to even _consider_ my words. Shit, Dick recommended me a _therapist_. _Dick_. He was supposed to be my _brother_. And Cassie, _Jesus_. I believed in them _so much_ , Damian, you can’t imagine how much it _hurt_ that it wasn’t mutual. I still love them, I really do. But there’s a part of me that’s constantly _angry_ at the world, and it won’t go away.”

Tim had to bite out the words, afraid he’d start shouting. It almost felt liberating to speak them finally. Months had passed since Bruce’s return, and he’s spent all that time talking and smiling to his friends as if he wasn’t resenting what they had done to him, pretending nothing had happened, that he wasn’t hurting inside.

“Bruce is the only one who never turned me away or dismissed my worries,” he confessed regretfully, “so if I can't work with him, I’d rather be on my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Damian apologised sincerely, “I hadn’t realised being Robin meant so much to you.”

The younger hero had sat down next to Tim sometime during his confession, a single row of bars separating the two of them. He looked slightly wary, but the kind of wary Bruce was faced with when a Robin or Batgirl got emotional on him. Man, the kid had no idea what he shared with his dad other than DNA.

“It didn’t until I lost it,” Tim told him, “and it’s not your fault.”

“You blame Grayson for this as well?”

“No,” Tim sighed, “I understand the position he was in at the time. Besides,” Tim allowed himself a small fond smile, “I think he was right. You did deserve the chance.”

“I tried to kill you,” Damian deadpanned.

Tim stretched his hand out to ruffle the kid’s hair, and Damian’s protest was subdued by his surprise.

“You were a little shit when we met,” Tim agreed as Damian huffed, “but you’ve come a long way since, you’re doing a great job at being Robin, and I couldn’t ask for a better successor. Bruce will come to see that too, eventually. Just give it time; we all started as strangers.”

“Stop that,” Damian commanded, swatting his hand away with embarrassment before regaining his composure, “I seemed to have assumed much about you, but I suppose there is a lot we don’t know about each other.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Tim seconded, “maybe we should avoid acting on our misplaced jealousy in the future. Truce?”

Tim outstretched his hand through the bars again.

Damian hesitated to grab it. When he did though, it wasn’t as a handshake like Tim had expected. Instead, he gently wrapped his own hand around Tim’s, as if they were holding hands on a walk. Damian refused to meet his eyes as he replied.

“Brothers. And we _never_ speak of this again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dammit im so screwed but you guys are so nice and now i havent studied but i ve writen another chapter i hope you guys are proud of yourselves dammit
> 
> Next up: A lot of people want Tim to explain himself. Tim does not explain himself. Tim knows who Nemesis is. Tim also slips up, but Tim won't know that.


	14. In which Canaries break, and Robins fly free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim fights really well. Too well. And even Amazon princesses procrastinate things they are very reluctant to do. Young Justice and Titans on the other hand... Well, youth does make them a bit more proactive in times like these.

The meeting hall was a mess. The Titans, as Donna had coined them, had done quite a number on the place. It wasn’t so broken as to threaten the orbital state of the Watchtower, thank Hera, but it was bitterly reminiscent of the Justice Society’s headquarters after the massacre. Walking alone, heels resonating on the dented metal floor, Diana almost felt like she was visiting a ghost town. Overturned chairs, cracks on the door, scorch marks on the wall, and not a single person in sight. They had more important matters than repairs to deal with.

The Amazon knelt in the middle of the room, where she noticed the JLA symbol had been tainted. There was a splatter of blood right in the middle of it, dividing it in half. It was Wayne’s blood, she knew.

There was so much fighting over a single man, she'd think he would at least be a decent one.

The Titans had stood down the second Wayne had gone off radar. They insisted on talking, on revising the League’s decision to kill Wayne. They spoke of ideals, of symbols, of what their actions meant, but they were all so young. Oliver had once spoken like that as well, and look how far they’d all come since. Part of Diana wanted stand with the Titans, to be so hopeful and bright once more, but she was the closest thing to a leader that the Justice League had, and it fell to her to make responsible choices.

Sometimes, life wasn’t perfect.

The League couldn’t really do anything about the Titans, as they were being very peaceful about their protest now. Besides, the Titans were their students, their family. It was a bit grating to have them refuse to reveal Wayne’s location, and surveil them closely. However, with things as they were, Diana suspected everyone just wanted to spend time with their loved ones, herself included. So yes, the League could take a reproachful look or two if it meant knowing their owners safe.

The two torches were still on the judges’ table. Diana approached hers, which was still burning bright. In theory, it was meant to represent her will, her conviction. It had sprouted from her own blood after all, and that made it part of her soul. Yet the fire danced as if it was full of life, and it was such a strange thing for Diana who was feeling so empty. The flames bounced nonetheless, caressing Diana’s palm with warmth.

“Diana.”

“Yes?” She replied, turning around to see Barry looking at her in concern. She hadn’t heard him come in.

“Dinah’s here for the analysis. Are you…?” Barry scratched the back of his head, “You've been staring at the torches for a few minutes now, are you alright? I mean, sorry, dumb question, of course you’re not, but…”

“It's fine, Barry,” she smiled, before casting her gaze on the second torch, “I just wonder, sometimes, about what the gods keep in store for us.”

Barry followed her eyes.

“It still hasn’t gone out,” he noticed, “it's been a whole day.”

“Wayne did not surrender,” she explained, running her hand over his flame and feeling the heat there. She had expected it to burn, but it was no more hot than her own. “He retreated against his will.”

The distinction was essential.

“But surely he’s passed out or fallen asleep since,” Barry frowned, “doesn't that count as incapacitated?”

“The notion is void if he is not at my mercy,” Diana replied, cupping Wayne’s flame with her hands, “and the gods won’t accept this as a win. A duel for honour is a confrontation where each side pits their hearts against the other. It is _very_ personal, and the youngsters’ interference has violated this. In this respect, the outcome is deemed invalid by the gods.”

“So what does that mean?”

Diana tore herself from the flame, and started walking towards the monitor room, Barry following at her side.

“It means my fight with Wayne isn’t over, and that I am bound to hunt him down until either of us falls.”

…

Dinah Drake was already looking at the security footages of the fight in the holding room, and the one in the meeting hall. She had gotten old since the last time Diana had fought at her side. Her black hair was turning grey at the temples, and her muscles had softened and sagged. They’d called her the Black Canary once, and she had played the role of the chipper bird with gusto and brilliance. But there was no cocky smile on her face anymore — it had been melted by sorrow, carving the lines on her face deeper. 

Diana couldn’t blame her. With Tim currently suspected of helping Wayne with the JSA murder, she could sympathise with the prospect of almost losing a child. Last she’d hear, the current Black Canary was nowhere close to getting back to normal. The brain damage she'd received from the incident was irreversible.

Shiera, Oliver, and Roy were with Dinah, waiting for her report. Roy had been relentlessly defending Tim’s honour for the past day, and it saddened Diana that she couldn’t find it in her to do the same. Tim’s shout of ' _Bruce!'_ still rang in her ears.

“I’ve gone through these videos myself,” Diana told her in lieu of greeting, “Timothy’s skill with the staff is on par with some of the best warriors in Themyscira. It is an ancient art, but I cannot recall ever seeing it handled like this.”

Dinah nodded, “I see what you mean,” she agreed, “and I can understand why you called me.”

“I am less familiar with man’s world’s war practices.”

“There!” Oliver pointed out, pausing one of the videos where Tim jabbed at Zachary Zatara’s throat, “That's League of Assassins, isn’t it?”

The League of Assassins certainly made sense, especially considering his association with Leviathan.

“It looks like it, but his right hand is too high on the staff,” Dinah told them, leaning in on the screen to get a better view, “the League of Assassins’s first rule with weapons is perfect control over it, and Tim loosened his on purpose. This would have been a lethal move otherwise. Besides, look at his footwork when he dodged this trick arrow there, in the meeting hall.”

Dinah pointed at another video, and the others watched intently as Tim sidestepped the arrow, bouncing on his feet with minimal movement.

“That looks like boxing,” Roy pointed out, surprised, “nice.”

“It does,” Dinah confirmed, “and it’s not just boxing.” 

The older woman collected various different scenes from the security footage, enumerating fighting styles as she did. “Judo, krav maga, fencing, aikido, that’s one of Lady Shiva's, thai boxing, even _darts_ …”

“He’s mixing and matching,” Diana realised, “just like Wayne.”

Dinah nodded, playing Diana and Wayne’s fight. “This is… I’ve never seen anyone fight like this before. It’s like they have no fighting style, no preference, no physical habits. Wayne even seems to have modified a few moves to suit his purpose. It’s… It’s amazing.”

All heroes present knew what Dinah meant. When one learnt to fight, one often got attached to the style they were being taught. Oliver and Roy stuck to archery and the principles it entailed: patience, precision, distance. Diana herself was more partial to frontal attacks and direct hits. She could, if forced to, take a bow or a spear to battle, but she would always fall on her sword and fists by default. Fighting styles weren’t just tools in a pocket, they were a school of thought, an aesthetic to appreciate, a way of breathing.

Diana couldn’t imagine what it meant for Tim and Wayne to be so at ease switching between crafts. It must have taken incredible self control, to fight against what felt the most comfortable to them, what felt the most enjoyable. Not to mention it meant mastering several dozens of arts and weapons to near perfection.

Tim had only been Red Speedy for less than three years; there was no way he could have learnt all that in such a short time. Had he been lying to them all along?

The lasso at her hip suddenly felt heavy.

Diana prided herself in being a warrior of truth, and the lasso was the perfect weapon for that rule. She didn’t mind using it on criminals and crooks to force themselves to face their own reflection, but using it on someone she loved… The lasso was a blatant display of distrust. It _forced_ others to be honest. And for all Diana loved truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted it if it meant she had to enslave the people she cared about. Lying was a choice like another — taking it away was an attack on freedom.

“Leviathan is the same,” Dinah continued, zooming in on the small scuffle the child had with Ted before Starfire had intervened, “he’s much more attached to his training with the League of Assassins, but you can see glimpses of restraint and more… creative moves.”

“And what of the Nightwing boy?” Shiera asked, tapping the screen where the enigmatic young man took down the Manhunter.

“Same,” Dinah replied, “I can see influences from all the great fighting styles there is, as well as some less-known ones. Unlike the others though, he seems to have appropriated all the moves he uses and turned them into a new style, one that involves a lot of jumping and movements more theatrical than necessary. He fights more fluidly, but less precise.”

“Where could they have learnt that?” Oliver asked, frustrated. There was very little of what Oliver had taught Tim that had shown in his fighting style, if any at all. The boy hadn’t even picked up his bow leaving the holding cells.

“I don’t know of any dojos that would even come close to this,” Dinah admitted tiredly, “my daughter is a much better expert than me, she could have…” her voice caught, “she could have been of more help.”

Shiera put a comforting hand on her arm.

“We will get Wayne for what he has done to your daughter,” she promised.

“Have you gone to see her?” Diana asked, leading her to a chair.

“She doesn’t even recognise me,” Dinah sobbed, “she’s like a lost child. But she’s my baby girl.”

Diana wrapped the older woman in a gentle embrace. Dinah Drake felt so frail in her arms, shaking. Diana had seen her kick in the teeth of powerful super-villains and fight with broken limbs and concussions, but there was none of that left. All that remained was a mother, praying every second she had for a miracle.

She’d already lost her husband, and now it was a daughter.

The current Black Canary was one of the brightest, strongest women Diana had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She was one of the only women of Man’s world that the Amazons were willing to call one of theirs should she ever had asked. And unlike so many in their line of work, she never neglected her humanity. She was as good of a hero as she was a daughter, a sister, and a friend. And she’d never fly again.

Permanent, the doctors had said.

Wayne was going to _pay_ for this.

* * *

They didn’t get much information about the situation from a holding cell in the Watchtower. Tim couldn’t even take out his comm. piece without alerting anyone surveilling them. Other than Donna bringing them food every once in a while, no one came to see them, not even for interrogation. At first, it had surprised Tim. Only, it came as a revelation that this Justice League had no Batman. They had no one to keep them on their toes, to do the tedious work of a killjoy. They didn’t have anyone so arrogantly sure of themselves that he took the weight of all the small, procedural decisions without even asking.

Donna had briefly told them that the Titans were working to get the League to drop the death sentence. She had been distinctively awkward, and it only took Tim half a second to figure out why. Donna, Troia, Wonder Girl, Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Red Speedy. Of course. They were like siblings in this world, weren’t they? She was keeping her questions in her throat, which was curious in itself. Donna was a confident woman where they come from, it was uncharacteristic for her to be so unsure.

There was only one explanation as to why she would doubt herself so much: Dick.

Dick had told the Titans something. It was already mind blowing enough that he had rallied the Titans together and got them to rescue Bruce (seriously, only Dick) but clearly his charisma hadn’t stopped there. He could see it in the way that Donna looked around, that she was looking out for anything out of place, that she was expecting more than what she saw. She clearly wanted to ask, but it was as if she knew the answers would be vague half-truths.

_There is something more to this_ , her behaviour had said, _I won’t judge you without knowing the circumstances_.

Unfortunately, the Titans were still ultimately on the ‘good’ side, which meant they had no intention of helping Bruce or anyone associated to him further than saving their lives. Bruce was still a criminal, and Tim and Damian were still being suspected of being accomplice to murder. They were more reluctant, sure, but without threat of death hanging over their heads, they were perfectly happy with the two Robins held in a cell.

“Maybe Nightwing has the right idea,” Tim pondered, speaking too low for any recording device to pick up.

“I once saw him fill a sandwich with cereal and dip it in milk,” Damian countered, shuddering at the memory, “he called it the greatest invention since grip powder.”

“I didn’t say he was a functioning adult,” Tim elaborated, “And, for the record, ew. Soggy bread is just — ew. Why would he — No, I meant _honesty_. It made sense to keep up the whole Tim Drake-Queen charade at first because the other heroes were more likely to trust me that way, and it gave me easy access to information, but it’s kind of a moot point now. Maybe we should just come clean.”

“Father hasn’t,” Damian pointed out very justly. Out of everyone, Bruce’s situation was the one most likely to improve if word got out that he was not, in fact, Bruce Wayne.

“Yeah but Bruce is paranoid,” Tim argued, “and I’m suspecting part of him _wants_ the League to kill him, an innocent man, just so he can prove them wrong about the whole jury/executioner thing.”

Damian snapped to attention, “Surely father isn’t suicidal?”

There were times where Tim had to learn to better phrase things. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he amended himself, “I mean that Bruce has a tendency of pissing people off to prove them wrong. He goads people into making mistakes, so they have to concede that wasting energy being angry and not listening to him is stupid. He’s a bit… childish like that. He cares more about being _right_ than being well, and the Justice League is something that matters to him, a lot. If _our_ Wonder Woman decided to execute someone… Well, actually you might have heard what happened when she killed Max Lord.”

“The Trinity took a year long break,” Damian nodded.

“They had quite the fight before that. It’s a matter of pride for him that the Justice League respects ideals,” Tim explained, “he won’t stop insulting their intelligence until they see things like he does, until they meet his standards. He holds his friends to much higher standards then anyone else, and himself to the highest of all. I honestly can’t say if it’s his greatest strength or his worst flaw.”

“At this point, I believe it isn’t so much a flaw or a strength as it is part of who he—“ Damian sighed, before hushing Tim, “Someone is coming."

Tim strained his ears, and he could, indeed, hear footsteps.

The door slid open, and in came Young Justice, and Connor Hawke. Zach had a bandaid on his nose, where Tim had punched him. He didn’t look happy. To be fair, Tim wasn’t sure he had ever seen a happy Zach. The others were just as sullen though, and it was the first time he’d seen them in that state without sharing at least part of their grief.

They stopped right in front of Tim’s cell, completely ignoring Damian. Out of politeness, Tim stood up and walked up to them.

“Diana will be here with her lasso once she’s free,” Cassie told him, before pausing. She probably expected him to pale or something, but Tim remained impassive.

“Which makes the purpose of your visit…?” Damian asked with feigned disinterest as he checked his nails. Man that kid had an attitude problem.

Cassie threw him a dirty look so full of anger that even Tim cringed. Damian, being a demon child, met the look head on. He did slightly shift his sitting position though, to a more alert one. Smart. When Cassie was angry, it was best not to rile her up further, or to at least expect a hard hit.

“Look, Tim, we just have a lot of questions,” Connor said diplomatically. He was speaking calmly but there was a hint of sadness in his voice. 

“Like,” Zach started angrily, contrasting greatly with the archer, “why d’you do it?”

Kon shot him a look and grabbed his arm, but Zach was having none of it.

“Don't stop me, Kon,” he sneered, “Tim didn’t even know we were waiting for him here! He still took us out in seconds — he must have planned ways of beating us beforehand. So how long ago was it, Tim? How long have you been looking at us and seeing potential targets? Since the day we met?”

The answer was yes. Batman had told Tim to have contingency plans, or at least defensive measures, against all his teammates on the very first day Young Justice had been officially instated.

Tim deflated.

“Look, I can explain,” he conceded.

“Good,” Zach spat, “because you have a lot of explaining to do. Connor?”

The archer almost looked reluctant as he took point on the conversation. “Cassie told me you disappeared for a few minutes at the JSA headquarters, and since you’re being held under suspicion, I investigated the matter. The security cams were all busted there of course, but I did find one that was still functional.”

Uh oh. Tim really didn’t like where this was heading. Talia had said there wasn’t a single camera left. She had said—

“It caught you planting a spy camera,” Connor informed him, taking the camera he had placed at the JSA headquarters from his pocket. “with a feed, Ted tells me, that goes directly to the Calculator, the main informant for criminals. Tell me there’s a reasonable explanation."

Of course. One fucking camera left and it had been just at the right spot. Just where Talia had wanted her ‘little favour’ to be done. Talia had set him up. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Talia was under the impression that he was the traitor. Whoever had fed Talia that lie had somehow gotten her to do this, probably in exchange for the information.

“ _Change of plans_ ,” Tim enunciated carefully in a code that would take a while for the Justice League to crack, considering their current standing with certain people. “ _Change of plans_ ,” he repeated, so Damian would have another chance at figuring the code out.

It was pointless to turn around and speak in low tones when Kon was around.

“I don’t understand that language,” Connor frowned. He looked around to see if any of his friends had a better idea of what was being said, but to no avail.

“ _We keep up the charade_ ,” Tim continued, as if he was still speaking to Connor. Damian clicked his tongue to signal he was listening, “ _I can justify the rest of my actions through our circumstances, but this one is on me. The real traitor is framing me so they’ll find more planted evidence when they dig deeper. If they find out the truth at this stage, they’ll think us all hostile. They might even think that the whole massacre was our plan and not alter-Bruce’s._ ”

“This really isn’t helping your case,” Zach grimaced, narrowing his eyes, “if I find out you had anything to do in Zatanna’s… In Zatanna’s _murder -_  anything - I will rip your heart out and feed it to your beloved Bruce Wayne.”

“I don’t,” Tim tried defending himself, knowing fully well it wasn’t looking good, “do you really think I would do something like that?”

“Well we wouldn’t fucking know, would we?” Zach nearly roared, grabbing Tim by the collar and pulling him closer to the bars. “We didn’t know you could fight like that. We didn’t know you worked for Wayne. We didn’t know you were bilingual. What the fuck do we know about you, Tim? Your shoe size? Or are you wearing weird prosthetics to fool us even there?”

“Zach,” Cassie warned.

“What about Jade?” Tim spouted off the top of his head, remembering all the condolences he got for her, “Come on, you guys aren’t stupid. You know what was happening between Jade and me. Everyone knew. It was an open secret. Why would I do anything to get her killed? I’ve already lost enough without adding someone I loved so much to the list. You think you’re the only one grieving, Zach? You think you’re the only one _hurting_?”

“You have no idea what Zatanna meant to me,” Zach growled back, “You have no idea how many people relied on her.”

“Have you ever tried bringing people back from the dead?” Tim asked Zack, looking at him square in the eye with fierce conviction, “Have you ever lost so much, that you start looking up cloning technologies and mystical fountains of youth? Because I did. I’m an atheist, Zach, but I found myself in a place where I preferred messing with forces greater than the world itself than facing grief again. Where I wanted to get back one, even if just _one,_ person I loved, and the price didn’t matter. There’s no competition when it comes to grief and pain but if you dare, imply _for a second_ , that I would let _anyone_ suffer the same way I did I will—“ Tim took a deep breath, carefully controlling his anger, “I've never been a saint. I take advantage of being overlooked and underestimated. I lie, I cheat, and I trick. But if there’s one thing, _one thing_ that will always be true about me, it’s that I know the value of life, and I know the consequences of death. I can take your insults and your implications, Zach, but erasing everything I’ve gone through the past years? That’s over the line.”

Zach released Tim and took a step back, still guarded, but much less explosively.

“That you would accuse me of helping anyone _kill_ …” Tim trailed off, angrily.

“You’re rambling, Drake,” Damian interrupted. It seemed rude at first, and Tim had to stop himself from snapping back out of habit. However, Damian was refusing to meet his eyes, almost guiltily.

Damian had a heart, and a pretty big one as Tim had learnt recently. He wasn’t very straightforward, but he cared nonetheless, and showed it in very strange ways. This was his way of telling Tim that it was over. That everyone was back and alive. That he had to come back to the present, and focus on what he had to lose rather than what he already did.

He was right, Tim was getting too worked up over this. He was just so tired of being dismissed, of having his feelings come down to denial or elaborate planning.

“Then tell us why,” Cassie insisted softly, “tell us why you’re doing all this.”

“I just did,” Tim replied truthfully, “I'm done losing people I love.”

“People you love?” Bart repeated, “ _Bruce Wayne_? _Leviathan_? What about _us_?”

“Why is it you or them?” Tim threw back, “Why can’t it be both? Why does someone _have_ to die?”

“They took my blood from me,” Zach answered vindictively, “and I will have theirs in return.”

“That's a _bit_ extreme,” Bart pointed out, “but he’s not entirely wrong. Wayne will kill us given then chance.”

No, he won’t, Tim wanted to say, Bruce would rather die than kill.

“You don’t have an answer for that, do you?” Cassie deducted sadly when Tim remained silent, jaw locked in frustration. 

“Is this… our fault?” Kon asked, speaking for the first time since he stepped in here. His real question was obvious: Could we have prevented this?

“No,” Tim replied quickly, “No, it’s not. Well, Zach _could_ stand to be a little nicer —“

“What is it you have against me these days?”

“— but it’s really not you. I make my own decisions. I chose for myself,” Tim added, pointedly looking at Kon, “you couldn’t _make_ _me_ do anything if you tried.”

Kon nodded respectfully.

“Connor, you alright?” Bart suddenly asked.

They all turned to Connor, who was looking a bit dazed. He hadn’t spoken in a while, actually.

“Huh?” the archer asked, shaking his head, “Er, yes. Everything’s fine. Hey, mind if I talk to you guys for a sec? Over a cup of coffee? At the Young Justice mansion?”

It didn’t take years of criminology studies and deductive training to figure out he had something to say that were not for Tim and Damian’s ears. Was it something Tim had said? Or was it maybe just a thought or a gut feeling? Clearly the others were just as curious as Tim, as they nodded and started walking out.

“If you have something to say,” Damian dawdled, “don’t hold back on our account.”

“Oh ha ha,” Cassie laughed sarcastically, grabbing Zach by the arm and pulling him away from his snarling at Tim hobby, “go screw yourself, brat.”

Bart blew a raspberry at Damian as he walked out behind Kon and Connor. 

The door slid shut.

**klang**!

The vent fell down.

Tim and Damian followed it with their eyes in sync.

“Fuck, I thought they’d never leave,” Roy breathed, jumping out of the vent as if it was a completely natural thing to do on a Sunday afternoon.

His timing was great. He waited for the camera to scan the other way before dropping down, and then snuck right under its corner, where it had a blind spot.

Tim hadn’t seen much of Roy in this world. He had dropped in once for dinner, but Roy, or Arsenal as the world knew him, was a busy man. He’d never left Checkmate in this world, and was constantly traveling on different jobs. He’d made it to the position of black knight, and was apparently up for consideration as the next black king, should anything happen to Floyd Lawton (yes, _the_ Floyd Lawton). How Dick had gotten hold of him was a mystery.

Still, that one night had been enough to find out that Roy, Connor, and other Tim, were very much brothers in all but blood.

Roy dusted himself, sliding a black bag full of stuff at the foot of Tim’s cell.

“Look, Timbers,” he said, “that Nightwing guy told me to trust you, and while I don’t trust him completely, I am partial to that advice.”

“Thank you?” Tim guessed. Even when he wasn’t present, Dick was saving the day. _Unbelievable_.

“Diana will soon have nothing left to do before coming here to interrogate the both of you,” Roy told them in a mission briefing voice, “even she can only delay the inevitable for so long. From what I understand, there is something big happening behind all this crap.”

“There is,” Damian confirmed.

“So I’m going to get you out,” Roy told them seriously, “because I have faith in you. Don’t abuse it.”

“I won’t,” Tim agreed earnestly, “I swear I don’t — _we_ don't have any bad intentions towards the League.”

“And I believe you, bro,” Roy reassured him, “all your stuff is in this bag, except your bow and arrows because Wonder Girl broke them in half after she got out of her lasso. Don’t piss her off.”

“I'll be fine and it’s too late for that,” Tim shrugged.

“That,” Roy whistled, “I believe too. I mean, where d’you learn to fight like that? I was with Ollie when they analysed the tapes. I know I haven’t been around much but _damn_.”

“Partly from Nightwing,” Tim admitted.

“I don’t know what it is about that guy,” Roy mused, “he just really makes you want to trust him.”

Tim smiled softly. That was one way to put. Who was it again that had once told him that other than Superman, Nightwing was the one hero all other heroes trusted? He was more open, easier to read than the other bats, and yet just as prepared. Just talking to him, it was simple to see he was a truly good guy. Not that he wouldn’t tear someone’s arm if they ever hurt one of his charges — Dick was the only Bat to have successfully killed the Joker after all. Maybe that was what made him so trustworthy. There was something very earnest in him; anyone could tell that he lived up to his promises, that he took responsibility for his actions as well as others'. He was kind, but he was firstly dutiful and loyal. 

A bit too much, at times.

“How do we open the cages?” Damian asked, knocking on his bars to illustrate his point.

“That's the tough part,” Roy grimaced, “but I have an idea.”

The cell opened with a buzz.

“Well, that was quick,” Tim nodded with approval.

Roy frowned, looking around like a cat who had just heard a sound, “That wasn’t me. My plan involved blowing up the microwave in the cafeteria and plugging the toilets.”

A strong green glare suddenly illuminated the room, and all three vigilantes turned to the only screen in the holding cell. There was no image or word on the display, just one, bright, shade of green. A very, _very_ familiar shade of green.

“Oracle?” Tim whispered.

“Who?” Roy asked, “Wait, don’t tell me. Plausible deniability and all that. Hit me instead.”

“Gladly,” Damian beamed.

“No, not ‘Gladly’!" Tim chided, “What the hell, Roy?”

“Look, the camera’s off,” Roy told them reasonably, pointing at the camera in the corner which frankly looked like a sad puppy, “take me out so it looks like you escaped rather than I helped you, since I’m guessing you don’t want me coming with. Plus, I don’t want Checkmate on my ass.”

“Now that we all agree,” Damian said, cracking his knuckles.

“Nerve strike, Damian,” Tim sighed, “there's no point in _actually_ hurting him. And Roy, thanks. Really. It means a lot.”

Damian sighed. “Bend, Harper,” he ordered.

Roy looked confused, but he obliged. Damian reached behind the red head’s neck, and a second later, the red head was falling limp. Tim caught him before he hit the ground, and lowered Roy gently so he wouldn’t get a headache.

“Right,” Tim concluded, “well that’s done. Now we need to—“

“How about you let me take care of the escape plan for once, Drake?” Damian suggested, fishing out his phone from the black bag, “Your twisted meddling has gotten us all in enough trouble as it is.”

Tim frowned, “What are you—“

“It's Robin,” Damian greeted curtly, straight to the point, and with the tone of a military commander, “I have Red Robin with me. Pick us up on the rooftop of the Boston branch of Catco Media as soon as possible.” And he hung up.

“Who the Hell was that?” Tim asked.

“It's what I’ve been trying to tell you all along:” Damian told him, “we have _severely_ underestimated the number of people who have been brought to this world.”

…

“— and while I was incapacitated, Cheshire found me, and tried to take me in as a prisoner,” Damian continued, as they stood on the edge of the roof. It was the same roof Dick and the others had escaped on, as the Justice League hadn’t reconfigured the teleports yet. With their stealth, and possibly Oracle covering them from kickstarting the alarm, sneaking around had been pretty easy.

“She knows _you’re alive_?” Tim asked, partially horrified at the prospect of the news.

“Let me finish, will you?” Damian growled, “As I was saying, she _tried_ to take me prisoner. However, as it turned out, the one she had originally been looking for wasn’t me but—“

Damian was interrupted as something grabbed them both by the collar, picked them from the rooftop violently and dragged them high in the air. Tim had all the breath sucked from his lungs at the initial pull. Of course, his fighting instincts kicked in immediately, but Damian grabbed his wrist forcefully, forcing it back at his side as they both dangled helplessly. This kid pointed up.

Tim glanced upwards, at whatever had caught them.

“ _Man-Bat?_ ”

The creature screeched. There was someone on his back, bending down to get a look at his new charges. Michael Lane, in League of Assassins standard gear.

“And Azrael? _What the fuck?_ ”

“They knocked Cheshire out cold and got me the antidote. You should hear the tale of how they both woke up in this world in Cheshire’s—“ Damian started.

“Red Robin,”Azrael greeted, interrupting Damian before hissing at him, “Robin, what part of don’t _ever_ mention it to _anyone_ don’t you understand?”

Professor Kirk Langstorm screeched in agreement. Tim had left Damian out of his sight for a handful of days. Days. What the hell?

“Okay… _Not_ suspicious at all. Wait,” Tim gasped, realising something, “waitwaitwait… We need to go to STAR hospital _immediately_.”

“We don’t have time for the detour,” Azrael argued, “We shouldn’t leave Cheshire alone too long. She’ll escape.”

“Drop us at the nearest town then, we can stay in touch through Robin.” Tim told them, “This is important. Nemesis and Catgirl will be heading there, and if you’re from our world, there’s a very high chance they are too. With the Clocktower empty, Dinah Laurel Lance is their next best shot at making sense of things.”

“Nemesis, the notorious fugitive criminal?” Damian recalled, “Is she supposed to ring a bell?”

“Depends,” Tim shrugged, “how much do you know about the Huntress?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: An unexpected someone finally takes up the job of figuring out how to bring the bats home, because it was all a mistake. A huge, fucking, mistake. Dick is offended, Jason is offended, Steph is not offended but she is slightly grossed out, and Clark slowly looses his sanity. Also, Nemesis and Catgirl should really have done some research about this world before infiltrating STAR hospital.


	15. Don't summon pagan gods... Just don't.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people finally start to realise how badly they've messed up, and how quick they were to act on their anger. Meanwhile, Stephanie is stuck in the middle of a fight as dramatically angsty as Bat-squabbles can get, and if Helena would just listen to Tim for a second she'd save both of them an ear shattering Canary cry.
> 
> (part in italics from Batman and the Outsiders #14)

“So, why the sudden need for secrecy?” Bart asked as he strolled into the Young Justice mansion, comfortably jumping on the fluffiest sofa. They had replaced most of the furniture since the debacle with the League of Assassins, and while the mansion still smelt like paint and dust, it was slowly returning to the state they were so used to seeing her in: messy, and lived in.

The repairs hadn’t been professional. Far from it. Cassie had insisted on leaving all the damage they could without the house collapsing on itself, as a memory to their first big victory. Of course, it felt much less like a big victory now that they knew the whole thing had been planned by Tim.

Connor sat down on a straw chair (the furniture was new, but nothing was said about matching), and Cassie took the seat next to him. Zach was too agitated to do anything but pace and pick at the fissures in the wall, and Kon had done enough sitting during the past two years to never do so willingly again. They did all respect a silence for Connor to speak though, and that was a testament of how dire things were. If he had asked them to the mansion, it was because he hadn’t wanted to risk any Leaguer overhearing what he said.

Young Justice was not known for being quiet.

 “I think the Justice League might be making a huge mistake,” Connor admitted hesitantly, “the Tim we just saw isn’t Tim, and I’m starting to think Bruce Wayne may not be who he says he is either.”

“That's impossible,” Bart scoffed, “I thought you guys said GA had confirmed Tim knew things only Tim could know.”

“Bart's right,” Cassie agreed, “and I doubt the League would execute a man without being absolutely sure of who he is.”

Connor shifted uneasily, clearly in disagreement. “That's the thing,” he said in explanation, “he may know things only Tim knows, but he also said something that Tim should have known was wrong, and which he should have known I would pick on.”

“I don’t know, his words sounded pretty solid to me,” Kon frowned, “Plus, he’s just so… _Tim_. The snark, the pride, his tendency to get excited about small things and to stay deadpan in the face of weird stuff… What did he say?”

“He mentioned his relationship with Jade,” Connor told them.

“ _Everyone_ knows they were almost together,” Zach prompted impatiently.

“Exactly,” Connor highlighted, “that's the problem. They weren’t. _At all_.”

“You're kidding,” Bart gaped.

“Really not,” Connor reaffirmed, “Jade originally approached him because she had a crush on _Roy_. They really clicked as friends though, so they started hanging out together. At some point the rumours about them started, and since no one believed them when they denied it, they just played along. They thought it was funny. They wanted to see how long it would take for people to realise how extremely platonic they were being. Tim called it reverse secret dating.”

“No offence,” Zach pointed out with a raised eyebrow, “but that sounds like bull. Maybe he just didn’t want to tell you that he liked her?”

The others were being more subtle about their doubts, but it was obvious they were siding with Zach on this one.

“Look,” Connor insisted, knowing fully well he was going to regret this, “Tim told me this in the highest confidence possible, but I see no way around this. Tim didn’t want to date Jade, because he’s not interested in girls.”

“Oh,” Cassie gasped.

“Or boys,” Connor continued, “he’s ace-aro, a term he found extremely appropriate considering his night time hobby. And trust me, they were not faking their friendship. I caught Tim smuggling candid pictures of Roy to Jade once, that’s how I know.”

“Gross,”  Bart crinkled his nose, “Tim wouldn’t—“

“No, he would,” Cassie piped in with certainty.

There was a beat, and everyone turned to Cassie, Connor edging away from her slightly.

“What - _Oh_!” Cassie shoved Connor defensively, “It was _before_ we started going out, and it wasn’t even pictures of you! He’s really good at photography, you know?”

So _that_ was where her stash of Aquaman photos had come from, Connor put together. Yeah, he’d found them once. By accident. How had Tim even taken those?

He had to admit though, they were rather fantastic.

“So _now_ you appreciate art,” Bart smirked. Cassie narrowed her eyes at him and he wisely didn’t add another word.

“So what does that mean?” Kon asked, frustrated, “Tim isn’t Tim? Where’s _our_ Tim then? How did the impostor know so much about Tim? How long has he been replacing our friend? What are his intentions?”

“It must have been him all along then,” it dawned on Cassie, “there is no traitor in the League, just a spy! Oh thank Hera!”

“But Tim isn’t the only one acting strange,” Connor reminded them, “or do you not remember that Wayne actually held his own against Diana? And Leviathan — You told me Zach had heard Talia Al Ghul threaten Tim for her son’s death. But they’re working together, behind the LoA’s back. This is too much to be coincidence.”

“Wayne has always been a bastard, but it’s the first time he’s done something so flashy,” Cassie agreed, “maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe those impostors are taking advantage of their disguises to push the blame on others. Maybe —”

“ _Fuck_.”

Swearing wasn’t that uncommon, especially not coming from Zach. But with the way the conversation was going, the others had expected more rage from him and less “Oh no”. The ‘fuck’ had fallen like bird crap on a sunny day. He had dropped the word like a toast slipping from his hands and landing jam side down; with both inevitability and an incredible degree of pathetic.

They all craned their necks to see where he had paced off to in his agitation, and found him by a window, inspecting the hole left by one of Tim’s arrows, back turned to them.

“Shit,” he cursed, sounding a lot more panicked than what was usual, “Oh shit. Connor’s right; the League’s making a huge mistake. Tim and Wayne aren’t behind the massacre at all.”

“What are you saying?” Bart asked, confused at Zach’s sudden change of attitude.

“I'm saying that I think I know what’s happening,” Zach revealed, turning around and letting the others see what had really gotten his attention next to the hole. A scribble in the shape of a bat.

“And it _might_ be a third of my fault.”

…

The holding cell was empty.

 _Empty_.

“What do we do now?” Bart groaned as he stared at Roy’s passed out body, “Of course they broke out during the ten minutes we had our revelation! Let’s just tell the League and —”

“No!” Zach almost screeched, “You cannot tell _anyone_! If Giovanni gets wind about this, I'm — Just, don’t tell anyone, okay? This is such a big fuck up, you have no idea. If Zatanna was still here she could have… Dammit. This is so fucking bad.”

“So what?” Cassie hissed, “We just let the League hunt down innocent people?”

“You don’t understand,” Zach enunciated patiently, “this is bigger than a few lives. This is about power we’re not supposed to have. There are people out there who would start a war to get one of us if they ever learn of what we accidentally managed. I get that you’re worried, and I’m going to do anything in my power to make things right again. But I’m going to do so _very_ discreetly. And I’m going to start by contacting Traci and Alice to tell them how much we messed up, and to see if we can reverse this somehow. Sounds good?”

Cassie deflated. Zach was a proud guy, and sometimes a bit too arrogant, but he was openly showing his stress, and she knew that wasn’t something that came easy to him. The simple mention of Giovanni told her how serious exactly this all was. Zach hated his father with burning passion, yet he somehow managed to fear him so much more. And if Traci 13 _and_ Black Alice were involved as well? The teenage magician was right; that was _a lot_ of potential power bundled up together.

Everyone knew Zatanna had been the one balancing all the tensions in the magical community. With her gone now, there was no one to shield the younger heroes from Giovanni’s abusive grasp. Zach, Traci and Alice had just been thrown in the grown up world like pieces of meat in a shark tank. And they were bleeding raw.

“Zach,” Cassie sighed, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, “I'm sorry for being so tense. I know you’re trying your best, but we’re here for you, alright? We were there before Zatanna rescued you, and we’re still here now. We won’t let him within a mile from you.”

“I know Cassie,” Zach gave her one of his rare smiles, “and I appreciate it.”

“Cool,” Bart interrupted, “but we should really work on contacting other Tim somehow. I mean, are you sure they know why they’re here? ‘Cause if they don’t, I’m imagining they must be pretty scared and confused.”

“I assumed they would,” Zach replied, not sounding sure at all, “I mean, they’re supposed to be his _knights_.”

Kon raised an unconvinced eyebrow. Looking back on it now, there were signs that Tim and the other impostors were making it up as they went along. Signs like the fact other Tim had completely tangled himself up in an intrigue that should have had _nothing_ to do with him.

“Okay,” Zach conceded, “so _maybe_ the scriptures were slightly old, and a bit was lost in translation."

“And _that_ , kids, is why you shouldn’t do pagan god summonings,” Bart concluded with a news anchor voice and a fake smile, “you might as well get drunk in Vegas for that level of clarity.”

The door to the holding cells slid opened, and there was a blank as the newcomer looked at the empty cells, then at the unconscious Roy, then at Bart’s frozen celebrity grin.

“What. Happened. Here?” Diana demanded.

Cassie sighed audibly.

**LINEBREAK**

Dick taped the bandage together with care and ease. He was surprised to see it all still came naturally to him, despite not having stitched Bruce up together in years. These days, it was usually Alfred, Robin, or Dr. Mid-nite stuck with that duty. Dick wasn’t in Gotham nearly enough to be his mentor’s nurse.

Superman had allowed Bruce to stay in one of the rooms of the Fortress. The Fortress had always had space, but it wasn’t exactly made to be accommodating. Even Bruce’s ‘room' was much more like a sub-igloo with a ratty blanket and no window. But it was the most comfortable there was in the Fortress, and Dick had to be grateful considering what exactly Superman thought of Bruce.

“Dick?”

Dick lifted his eyes from the bandages and landed them directly on Bruce’s half opened ones. Of course he was already awake. He gave it two days before they found him doing pull ups on one of the Fortress’s stalactites. Two more before he picked a fight with Superman.

“Hey Bruce,” Dick greeted softly, “how are you feeling?”

“What are you doing here?” Bruce frowned, wincing as he probably attempted to move something that just physically couldn’t do so at the moment.

“Taking care of some idiot who figured fighting Wonder Woman was the next best idea of the century,” Dick shrugged, bouncing the roll of bandage in his hands to illustrate his point.

Bruce gave him an unamused glare. 

“I meant _here_ ,” he clarified, “with us.”

Dick stopped bouncing the roll.

“You mean why am I saving your collective asses when we’re all stuck in a strange dimension and people are trying to kill you?” Dick narrowed his eyes, “I’m insulted.”

Bruce didn’t seem to care about Dick’s offended feelings.

“Your parents,” Bruce replied instead, seemingly not understanding Dick’s words, “they’re alive. I looked it up.”

“And you think I’d let you die to stay with them?” Dick concluded irritably. Why was Bruce always like this? He cared about people, but there were times where it felt like he was the only one allowed to do so. He berated others for making personal choices, and yet he always expected them to.

But that was Bruce. That was Batman. And it was something Dick had resigned himself to.

What really grated him in all this, was that Bruce was almost making him an orphan all over again.

“I can take care of myself,” Bruce answered matter-of-fact, “you know I can. I have Jason and Stephanie.”

_I don’t need you._

“ _Jason_?” Dick scoffed, “You’d rather have _Jason_ at your side than me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Bruce replied shortly, “you have a chance to spend time with your parents, Dick.”

“My parents are _dead_ , Bruce,” Dick told Bruce earnestly, “they fell, and they died.”

“Not in this world.”

No. Not in this world. In this world, John and Mary Grayson were still soaring through the air. They still thrived under the spotlight and the applause, along with their son. In this world, John Grayson’s smile was more than a memory, and Mary Grayson’s laugh more than an echo. They were alive enough to squabble over stupid things, and real enough to catch Dick when he jumped.

But these John and Mary Grayson had eighteen years with Dick that his parents had never shared, and their Dick had never kneeled between their broken necks. These John and Mary Grayson weren’t the young, slightly clumsy parents Dick remembered, but wiser empty nesters, and their Dick wasn’t a hardened crimefighter. The young man firmly believed that experience and bonds forged people, not genes. And these Graysons? They didn’t have the same experiences, or even the same relationship. They just weren’t the same people. He didn’t know them.

And yes, he’d spend the first few weeks in this world indulging in some fantasy he’d dreamt about countless times, but he’d done so knowing it wouldn’t last. He’d done so with his bags already half-packed.

“I love my parents, Bruce,” Dick admitted, meeting his mentor’s eyes without an ounce of hesitation, “I'll always love them, and I’ll always miss them. But they died when I was _eight_ , and while I’d love to have them back, I wouldn’t give everything for it. They gave birth to me, and raised me to the best of their ability, but they didn’t teach me how to shave or bench me when I was being immature. _You_ did, Bruce, you taught me everything. _You’re_ my parent. You’ve been my parent for _ten more years_ than they have. You haven’t replaced them in my heart, but I would never trade you for them. I wouldn’t trade you for the world’s fortune. You’re my family now, and I love you more than I miss them.”

“Dick,” Bruce started sadly, “you can’t know how life would have been if I hadn’t—”

“But you did,” Dick stopped, taking advantage of a weakened Bruce to get a word in. It was really hard to express how much he was grateful when Batman was barking orders, “and this is who I am now, and what I care for. I could never settle down for a normal, happier life, Bruce, not after you’ve shown me what I could do with the one I have, not after you’ve opened my eyes to such a grand, terrifying, and magical world. I love what I do. I love helping people. I love fighting crime by your side. You wanted to know what I was doing here? It’s simple. You called. I came. And I’ll come again the next time you need me. I’ll always come for you.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Bruce sighed, with a thin smile.

"Only figured that out now?” Dick teased, “Old age must be getting to you.”

“I’m not that old,” Bruce huffed.

“You’re, like, a hundred and eight,” Dick told him with a straight face.

“I'm _forty-six_.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Dick shrugged, standing up, “you should really get some more rest. Call if you need anything, like water, or another pep talk.”

“I'm fine.”

“ _Sleep_ ,” Dick ordered him with a pointed finger as he left the room with the roll of bandages and a pair of scissors, “I'm Alfreding you."

“Nobody says po-tah-to!” Bruce called after him in protest.

It was a good sign. If Bruce was comfortable acting childish, it meant he wasn’t planning anything weird in his head. Had he truly planned on sneaking away, he’d have feigned cooperation. Bruce could be pretty easy to read once you figured that he was obsessed with controlling his words and actions. It was all about figuring out what he wanted, than the cleverest way to get what he wanted, and then how to counter that. Thinking two steps and all that. Or more like thirty steps in Bruce’s case.

Jesus. Dick was becoming Bruce. Oh no.

“How's B doing?” Steph asked as Dick strolled into the main hall of the Fortress, where Stephanie and Jason were hanging out. They hung out a lot, these two, and it weirded Dick out a bit. At the moment, they were both sitting at the rectangular table with coffee, Jason reading a book on reporting and Stephanie doodling. She was actually pretty good, in an expressive cute drawings kind of way.

Dick briefly wondered. Did Superman have a bunch of pencils and crayons laying around or had Steph actually gotten him to bring some for her?

“Well he's not dying,” Dick replied with a shrug as he stuffed the roll and the scissors back in the medical cabinet, “did he seem a bit off to you when you were at the Manor?”

Because he was off. Definitely. Bruce always did have a part of himself wallowing in sadness, but he never allowed it to grow past a background melancholy to his drive for justice. His surprise upon seeing Dick help him had been genuine though, and that had stung.

Hadn’t Batman Incorporated been all about Bruce realising he wasn’t alone? Why was he suddenly convinced that he was poison to others? Bruce had his fair share of flaws. Sometimes hubris swallowed him, and sometimes it was guilt. But doubt? If anything, he was often reproached of being too sure of himself, too patronising and condescending. There was something deeply troubling about the way he suddenly thought so little of himself, that he’d been surprised Dick _hadn’t_ left him to die.

Dick would save a kitten from a tree, and Bruce knew that. Dick knew better than to think it was his heart that was being suspected of being frozen. So what did it say about how Bruce saw himself?

Stephanie and Jason exchanged a glance, and that was all Dick needed to know.

“What did he say?” Dick ask, wanting to understand what had Bruce so morose.

“He—“ Stephanie started.

“Nothing of importance,” Jason cut in gruffly, keeping his eye on his page, “he was high; he said nothing he meant.”

“Steph?” Dick asked, bypassing Jason’s opinion for Batgirl’s.

Stephanie’s eyes bounced between Jason and Dick. Dick really couldn’t see what the hesitation was. Jason was a crime lord with a grudge against Bruce, and Dick wanted nothing more than to help the man.

But still Stephanie seemed at a crossroad.

“He’s…” Stephanie explained, choosing her words, before settling for a diplomatic approach: “I think this world is affecting him, and not in a good way. Have you heard from Tim?”

The change in subject was obvious. Whatever Bruce had told them, it had been personal enough that Stephanie considered it was not her place to reveal what Jason would not.

“Not yet,” Dick answered, taking a seat next to her and grabbing a crayon and a sheet of paper from her stack.

“Maybe if we tried initiating the conversation,” Stephanie suggested, pointing towards Dick’s ear where the comm. link was.

“Steph,” Dick reminded her, “I know Bruce trained you, and I know one of the first lessons he goes through is to always have a means of communication with you. I also know you know how to hide a communicating device when you’re caught so it won’t be taken away when you’re frisked. Do you really want to start a conversation with Tim’s insides?”

Stephanie shuddered.

”Let’s wait for them to open the conversation first,” she agreed.

“Hey Steph,” Jason suddenly called out, “you—“

Jason abruptly reached for the girl, and without thinking further, Dick shot from his chair and stopped his hand with a strong grip. Jason froze, surprised by Dick’s quick reaction, and Dick paused himself, his mind needing to catch up with his body.

Steph startled.

Jason’s fingers were two centimetres away from Steph’s face.

Him and Dick both looked at each other in surprise.

Silence.

“You have eraser residue in your hair,” Jason finished eventually, enunciating his words carefully.

“Oh,” Steph fake-gasped in a small voice, reaching out to shake it off her head herself, “er, thanks.”

“It's nothing,” Jason replied calmly before addressing Dick, “what did you think I was going to do? _Strangle_ her?”

Dick pushed down a twinge of guilt. There was no need for that.

“Can you blame me?” He shot back.

The younger man didn’t answer, but he tensed as if he had the right to be offended by Dick’s accusation.

Jason’s presence in his periphery had been a constant itch in Dick’s mind these past two days. It was simply impossible for him to turn off the rats of doubts chewing at his paranoia. Jason was a dangerous man, with an ambiguous alignment. And he was constantly around a careless Steph and a wounded Bruce.

So yes, Dick was feeling slightly overprotective.

Bruce may have placed his trust in him temporarily, but the man was unfortunately biased and indulging in his sentimentality a bit more than usual at the moment. Dick saw something else than a son when he looked at Jason. He saw the man who beheaded his way into the underground of Gotham, the man who had killed wearing his colours, and then who’d done the same wearing Bruce's, the man who had stabbed Tim and beaten him to an inch of his life in Titan’s Tower, shot Damian in the chest _as a distraction_ , the man who had tried to unmask them, the man who’d become Dick’s personal Joker when he’d stepped into the cowl.

Dick would always regret not having been more of a brother to Jason before they’d buried him. He’d been such a sweet kid too. But Dick wasn’t a martyr like Bruce. He recognised that Jason was his own man now, and that no matter how he came to be this way, he had to be held responsible for his own actions. Maybe it was their fault he died, but every life he’d taken since was on him.

Jason was a killer, and he mocked the very symbol they all fought under.

Dick let him go, and Jason let out a humourless scoff.

“It’s no wonder Cass doesn’t feel at home with you around,” he muttered as he sat down again. It was spoken in a low tone, but Dick knew how to recognise when something was meant to be heard.

“ _Excuse me_?” He growled.

“You know, you should really go from Dickface to two-face,” Jason sneered, “stop letting impressionable young children believe you’re a human version of Supes.”

“What do _you_ know about Cass?” Dick asked in outrage, “And how dare you imply I had anything to do with her moving out? She makes her own choices!”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed with a scowl, “and she choose not to put up with your bullshit. You don't trust us, Dick, and you never will. Cass was smart enough to see that. She wasn’t welcome in your Gotham, and she fucking knew it.”

“Cass is my _sister_ —“ Dick defended himself, angry that Jason would think he knew his relationship with Cass better than him.

“Guys,” Stephanie tried mediating.

“Oh yeah?” Jason taunted with a mean smirk, “How'd it go the last time you saw her as Batgirl? The last time you saw her before she left?”

The last…? 

_Rain. Nightime. A punch. A kick._

_“Had enough?” Batgirl hissed._

_“Not even close,” Nightwing spat back._

_The Batmobile. Alfred. A forced apology. A formal handshake._

Dick froze. Was there some truth to what Jason said?

They’d worked together since, him as Batman and her as Black Bat, and they hadn’t actually had any tension between them. Then again, Dick unfortunately realised, they’d never been anything more than civil to each other either. They’d worked as colleagues, never siblings. And Jason was partly right; Dick just couldn’t be at ease with the idea of letting Cass come closer to his family than that. Not anymore. Not after what she had done.

It was getting hard to remember they had been pretty close before Cassandra had gone rogue.

“She doesn’t blame you,” Jason told him, but it wasn't meant for comfort, “she accepted that you’d never see past her past. Your hands are just so fucking clean you can’t come _close_ to understanding people like us. You've never had to cross the line, but we were _born_ on the wrong side of it. That’s where you have it wrong though; there is no fucking line. You would know that if you ever got off your white perch. You can’t judge us when you’ve never risen from the dirt yourself. When you’ve never had to face a situation where killing was the _only_ choice.”

Dick’s face automatically hardened at that last sentence. He hadn’t meant to be so transparent, but that kind of thing _haunted_ him.

Stephanie went slack-jawed, and Jason recoiled slightly.

“Do tell, Dickiebird,” the younger man preyed, twistedly interested.

The Joker. Blockbuster. One had been revived, and the other hadn’t. But both time, Dick had paid heavily with sleepless nights and endless guilt. Both times he’d tortured himself over it, and he still couldn’t forgive himself. He’d pushed even Barbara away, and had gone Renegade.

“Killing is _wrong_ ,” Dick insisted with conviction, “and it’s not that you have killed, it’s that you _chose_ to do so."

“Then I can see why you wouldn’t trust _me_ ,” Jason conceded, "but _Cass_? She was drugged _and_ brain washed!”

“She wanted to kill Cain and Deathstroke,” Dick reminded him, “that was her."

“But she didn’t,” Jason pointed out, “she _didn’t_. She was raised for it, and she didn’t. And still all you see when you look at her is a killer. You’re no saint, Dick. You’re a fucking hypocrite. At least Bruce actually _believes_ in second chances.”

It wasn’t that. Dick knew it wasn’t that. Jason just couldn’t understand what it was like to be suddenly responsible for an empire. Dick couldn’t afford to let potentially dangerous people close to those he was sworn to protect and take care of. He couldn’t afford to take chances, because anything that would go wrong would be on him and —

**THUMP**

A sudden gush of wind and a powerful sound shocked the three vigilantes into battle stances. A cloud of icy mist had formed in the middle of the hall, and tension ran high as they watched it dissipate.

It was Superman, landing home. His cape was still fluttering down when he met their gazes.

“You're from _another dimension_?!” He exclaimed, stalking over to the table without so much as a greeting. His shock was evident. They all relaxed.

“What?” Stephanie intelligently gaped, clearly confused.

“You didn’t think I was going to leave without keeping an eye or an ear on you, did you?” He asked her, before snapping back to Dick, “ _Another dimension_?!”

“Busted,” Steph sang under her breath.

Dick wanted to slap himself. How had he completely forgotten about _Superman_?

“He's your _father_?!” Superman continued repeating, completely flabbergast, “Your name is Dick?! You fight crime?! Your name is _Dick_?!”

“Why are you fixating on that point?” Dick asked suspiciously.

“He was actually calling you by your name!” Superman asked, pointing at Jason, “The secrecy was driving me mad but he was actually calling you by your name all along! Your _real_ name!”

“You’re repeating yourself,” Jason pointed out impatiently.

“Wayne didn’t even commit the crime, did he?” Superman realised, horror suddenly dawning on his face.

“Nope,” Stephanie confirmed. There was really no point in pretending otherwise at this stage.

Superman groaned, covering his face with his hands, “Rao, They were going to kill an innocent man!”

“Didn’t seem to bother you before.”

Dick resisted the urge to yell.

“Why are you out of bed, B?” He asked patiently, glaring at the man limping his way over. He looked like shit with half of his face blue and the other red. There were times where he swore Batman had a distressed Superman radar. Not so he could be there to help the man, of course. Just so he could bring an extra shovel for Superman to dig his grave with.

So kind of him.

“I thought you had _actually done it_ before,” Superman explained, “but you _didn’t_! Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“It shouldn’t have mattered,” Bruce huffed, lowering himself carefully in a chair with a wince.

“Not mattered?” Superman repeated, “They would have killed you! You would be dead! Wonder Woman _actually_ beat you _half to death_!”

“And whether or not I was innocent shouldn’t have had a weight on whether or not they would kill me,” Bruce rephrased calmly, stealing Stephanie’s cup of coffee, “the Justice League shouldn’t be playing god. They have no right to judge who lives and who dies.”

“You were going to let them kill you _to prove a point_?” Superman concluded, disturbed.

“Do you ever say anything original?” Bruce questioned haughtily, brushing away Clark’s question. “Can we start discussing important matters now? We’ve already wasted too much time already.”

“Recuperating from almost dying isn’t _wasting time_ ,” Dick deadpanned, “we can discuss things later.”

“He’s pissing Supes off,” Stephanie shrugged, “he’s fine. What’s the plan, boss?”

“ _Why are you all so calm about this?!_ ”

**LINEBREAK**

STAR labs was a real fortress, but having been part of both the JLI and the Birds of Prey meant that Helena was pretty familiar with the layout. She’d infiltrated worse, probably. She did feel a bit naked without Oracle watching her back, but at least she wasn’t completely alone.

Helena made herself smaller in the storage room as a nurse came by to pick up beddings. They called her Nemesis in this world, and they hunted her down as a criminal. Her face was on every newspaper channel, accompanied with the heading: “dangerous, call if you have any information.” She couldn’t even walk into a building without having to disguise herself and take note of every surveillance device within thirty metres. Not to mention how treacherous this world was. It was familiar enough to lull her in a sense of security, but different enough that she was without resources and allies.

Well, she had one ally, and hopefully by the end of the day, a second.

The woman sighed. And she used to think having the Question or Batman on her case had been annoying. Try the whole world.

“Hey,”

Helena didn’t jump at the sudden whisper. She glanced behind her, where ‘Catgirl’ was crouching, full leather costume on. It was strange seeing her with a hybrid Catwoman meets grim Batgirl costume, and it didn’t fit her personality much.

“What did you find?” Helena whispered back.

“BC’s in room 301,” Charlie reported, “there are guards though. I couldn’t get inside without them noticing.”

“Good call,” Helena approved.

“Are you sure she’ll be like us, though?” The younger vigilante asked.

“You’ve been here much longer than me,” Helena reminded her, “I’m just guessing. You’re here. I’m here. What do we have in common? The Birds of Prey. It’s either that or Black Alice and all the people from school.”

“So basically you have no clue what we’re doing,” Charlie concluded with a dramatic sigh.

“Watch your tone,” Helena chided her, “I can still change your grade for that last test.”

Charlie gasped, “You can’t _do_ that,” she said, “aren't there rules against teacher-student blackmail?”

“I shoot bolts into people and beat the living hell out of them at night,” Helena reminded her student, brandishing the crossbow Misfit had stolen for her at a museum, “do you _really_ think I care?”

That wasn’t true. Helena _did_ care about her job, especially since Barbara had managed to land her one. She had almost given up on being a teacher before integrating the Birds, so she was ever so glad for the chance to try again. But Misfit didn’t need to know that.

Helena motioned for them to get a move on, and Charlie followed her without further protest.

It had been a bad idea. A very bad idea.

The second they had stepped out of the storage room, they’d been shot at. And then everything had been blown out of proportion like only superhero messes could.

A bunch of guards had cleared the area of civilians, as if they had known Helena and Charlie were in that particular storage room. They had been waiting for them, guns trained on the door. But it didn’t make any sense. Charlie had been scouting out the security detail of the hospital for every step they took, and Charlie was impossible to detect unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. She had bypassed the _Clocktower’s_ security, for God’s sake, and not even Batman could do that without alerting Barbara.

Someone had been expecting Charlie specifically. Someone had known they were coming. Yet Catgirl and Nemesis had no relation to Black Canary in this world, as far as they knew.

Were they facing someone from their world then?

As Charlie dodged bullets by teleporting around, Helena used all she had to cartwheel her way around the projectiles and land on guards’ faces, or crotches. She wasn’t particularly choosy at the moment. As long as they screamed or passed out.

But there was just about a dozen guards, and seconds into the fight, Helena knew they weren’t normal guards. They fought too well — they were professional hitmen, best case scenario. They were over Helena’s pay grade. She could take maybe two, three at once. But twelve? Even Charlie, a metahuman, was being completely overpowered by their technical expertise. The young girl could dodge all she wanted, but every time she went for a hit, she received one instead.

The fight seemed very well lost in advance, when the wall behind the line of fake guards exploded. The screams of bystanders scampering away from the other side could be heard.

With a roar of the engine, a motorcycle carrying two kids with their heads covered by helmets came crashing into the fight. Helena’s first thought was to treat them as hostiles, but the smaller brat immediately jumped and attacked one of the guards, knocking him down, while the older one batted a punch away from Misfit with a bo staff as he brought his ride to a stop. They were both dressed like they had raided a motorcycle store.

“We need to get out of here,” the older kid told them, clothed in a red and black windbreaker.

Misfit recognised the voice. “Red Robin?”

“And Robin,” Red confirmed, nudging his head towards the small brat in a full black racing onesie for kids, “from _your_ world.” Who knew they even made these that small? 

A movement caught Helena’s eyes, and she noticed there was someone left in the room. Someone who wasn’t a Robin or a guard. Someone with short black hair, bright blue eyes, and a face that Helena knew too well.

“Dinah!” She called, reaching for the woman who had been watching from the door of the emergency waiting room.

“Wait!” Red Robin called after her. But it was pointless, Helena had already jumped over an enemy’s shoulder and landed in front of the woman. 

She did regret it immediately though. Dinah tensed, and took a guarded stance. She was dressed in a civilian sweater and jeans, but she looked no less threatening.

“Stay away from my sister, Nemesis,” she warned, “I know you’re here for her. They told me you would come.”

“It’s _me_ , Canary,” Helena tried to reason with her, “It's just me.”

Red Robin caught her arm. “You’ve got it all wrong, Huntress!” He said, “Dinah's not the Black Canary. She’s not even a superhero.”

“What?” Helena frowned.

“How did you know we were coming?” Red Robin then questioned Dinah.

Dinah didn’t seem to have much patience for interrogations though, as her answer came in the form of a deep breath, one Helena had heard many times. And crap — they were standing too close. Dinah’s voice could almost kill people at this range. Helena braced herself for the Canary Cry of the century.

**thunk.**

Nothing happened. In fact, everything was way too quiet. Had they gone deaf already?

Helena cracked an eye open, turning to where the massive brawl was supposed to be. Behind her, all twelve guards were passed out, and in the middle, Robin, Misfit, and _Booster Gold_ stood victorious.

She turned back to where Dinah was standing, only to find her also passed out. And looming over her, a foot on her neck, was _her_.

Fishnets, leather jacket, combat boots, and black hair dyed blond: 

The Black Canary, Cassandra Cain-Lance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Catgirl and Cassandra revealed! In one go!  
> But now another problem arises: who tried to intercept Helena and Charlie? And how badly has Zach fucked up exactly?
> 
> Next up: The Bats start organising themselves, and it's finally time for them to take a proactive role in this mess. Diana's on the hunt, and Young Justice must figure out a way to reach out to Tim without putting him on her radar.
> 
> PS: would anyone be interested in a Jason & Cass fic explaining how they know each other so well? I was thinking of writing it once the Bat's Crest was over. Or maybe doing like an alternative update between both. It would probably be mainly Cass's POV.


	16. The Faceless Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booster Gold is really tired, okay? He is so done with his job.  
> Meanwhile, Cassie is forever stuck on hunting the traitor duty, and Superman is unwittingly enlisted in Batman's army.

“Let me guess,” Booster Gold sighed as he dropped a gun to the floor, “you guys _all_ came from an alternate universe.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, “And how would _you_ know this?”

Booster groaned in his hands, sliding down in a crouch. Cain walked up to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. There was as much pity as there was amusement on her face. Damian almost hadn’t noticed her fly-kick her way into the fight, landing directly on the Black — well, on Dinah Lance. But now that they were surrounding by a litter of passed out bodies in the trashed waiting room of a hospital, and that they finally seemed to catch a breath, Damian could spare more attention to their little troupe.

The Huntress and Misfit were worn out, but they had suffered no hard damage thanks to his and Drake’s good timing. Misfit was still wearing her Catgirl outfit, which was a vast improvement compared to the one she wore back home, whilst Huntress had stolen some yoga pants, sunglasses, and a hoodie. Good for movement. Blended well enough in a crowd.

Drake hadn’t removed his helmet, and Damian followed suit. They were allies, but neither of them knew who Red Robin and Robin were.

Booster Gold did, and why that was remained a mystery to Damian. Batman, Drake _and_ Grayson refused to divulge any information on the man. It was truly a great source of frustration.

“Can _someone_ explain what the _hell_ is happening?” Huntress demanded, checking Dinah’s vitals as she glared at the rest of the dimensionally displaced heroes.

“I'd like to know as well,” Booster seconded, settling cross-legged on the ground.

“We don’t know much,” Tim replied earnestly, leaning back on their half destroyed bike. Apparently massive brawls weren’t good for nearby objects. Who knew. “Robin, Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, Red Hood, Azrael, Man-Bat, and I all have awoken separately in this alternate word, in our alter-egos’ bodies. We don’t know why or who else is here. My original assumption was anyone Bat-related but…” Drake glanced at Booster, “Well, it seems to not be the case.”

“Actually it might still be,” Booster admitted, running a hand through his blond hair, “I'm not like you guys,” he explained, “I'm from your world, yes, but soul _and_ body. I came here willingly. There was a disturbance in the inter-dimensional wall and the Booster of this world is off God knows where so I stepped in. The disturbance is slight since your bodies are back home, but I’m guessing there’s quite a few more of you, otherwise I wouldn’t have noticed it.”

inter-dimensional travel? On purpose? _Booster Gold_? Drake didn’t seemed surprised, but it was only because he _knew_. Clearly Huntress was a bit put off by his sudden competency too, so at least Damian wasn’t alone.

“I technically have nothing to do with Batman either though,” Misfit frowned.

“That’s something else we’re going to have to clear up,” Drake pointed out, “where do we draw the line about who’s bat-related enough to have been brought here? How do we know if someone’s not coming, or if they just haven’t arrived yet? How do we fix this?”

The last question was directed at Booster Gold, quite surprisingly. There really was something about the man.

“This is out of my area,” Booster Gold replied apologetically with hands raised in the air, “your souls travelled, not you body: it’s magic. Besides, we should really go now.”

“The police won’t be here for another ten minutes,” Damian informed him, “we have time.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Booster urged, standing up and heading to the other side of the room, where a time sphere appeared, as if it had been waiting there invisible all along, “It’s already bad enough that I’m here instead of my other self, but me from a week ago is still in a coma a few corridors down from here, and I’ve learnt it’s best if two versions of me from different times stay as far from each other as they can.”

“You have a _time sphere_?” Huntress gaped.

“So you’re from a week into the future,” Drake nodded, “I _thought_ it was oddly lucky you awoke just in time for this fight. This explains it.”

“I’m going to have to leave this dimension soon though,” Booster told them as he invited them into the small spherical ship, “I've been here for too long. My continued presence isn’t really appreciated in other dimensions and times these days. “

For someone who had the reputation of fooling around, looking for the easy way out, and seeking fame and glory rather than true justice, Booster looked oddly serious and tired. He had just awakened from a coma, granted, but he seemed too focused for it to be the sole reason why.

They all squeezed themselves in the transparent sphere, shoulders pressed against each other.

“I don’t understand exactly what is going on here,” he continued, operating the sphere to take off. They weren’t travelling through time, but as they followed the holes Drake and Damian had made to get to the fight faster, and as they rose through the dusky sky, Damian had to admit he was partially impressed. “and I can’t just bring you back in those bodies. But I can tell you everything I know and hope it’ll help you somehow. Earlier, when you listed the people who were brought here, you omitted Oracle. Was that a mistake?”

“Not entirely,” Drake replied, “I think she might have helped us earlier, but I’m not completely sure yet.”

Booster Gold slid a drawer open under the command board, and took out a slip of paper which he handed to Drake. It was completely green — _Oracle_ green — save for the collage of letters on one of its side. It could have been a ransom note, were it not for what it said.

Damian rose on his tip toes to read it.

 _‘Go back to Sunday the sixth of November._  
_Help Black Bat escape STAR hospital._  
 _Help Huntress and Misfit fight Luthor’s men._  
 _— O’_

So Luthor was the one behind this. How had he come to know about them?

“Is it… not right?” Cain asked Drake. She was the only one looking at him rather than at the paper, presumably reading what he thought of it rather than attempt to decipher the mix and match of newspaper cuttings herself.

Drake looked wary.

“It's not her style,” Huntress cut in, “she has more… elegance than that. This looks like something the Riddler would come up with.”

“If even Man-Bat is here,” Cain reasoned, “then she must be too. She is more… _connected_ to Batman than most of us.”

“I agree with Huntress though,” Booster Gold seconded as he turned himself around in his chair, “it was stuck in the collar of a violently pink ‘get well soon’ teddy bear on my nightstand at the hospital, and I frankly can’t imagine _her_ choosing _that_ as a gift. If she wanted to make a joke, she’d make it more subtle.”

“But Oracle doesn’t exist in this world,” Damian argued, “it has to be Gordon. _Our_ Gordon.”

“It has to be someone who figured out I was from your world,” Booster added, “possibly someone who saw what happened at the JSA headquarters.”

“Why?” Huntress asked.

“I arrived in this world before the attack,” Cain explained, “ten minutes before. Everyone was… confused about my attitude. But Booster recognised me. He… shielded me from the attack.”

“I admit I hadn’t expected to see you there on _that_ day, but I try not to let people die in worlds or times they don’t belong in,” Booster shrugged, “point is, that’s the only time I gave a hint that I was from our world. Whoever this Oracle is, they must have seen this, or heard it from one of the attackers.”

“ _That_ day? You speak like —“ Huntress started, suddenly angry, “Did you _know_ about the massacre _before_ it happened? Why didn’t you do anything!?”

“This isn’t my world,” Booster countered, slightly insulted, as Cain raised a placating hand in front of Huntress to stop her from physically confrontation.

“That’s a coward’s excuse,” Damian huffed.

“I’m sure Michael did everything he could,” Drake cut in, sending Damian a warning look. Damian narrowed his eyes back, but Drake didn’t waver.

“Moral discourse aside, are you saying Oracle is a bad guy?” Misfit asked, bringing them back on the topic at hand.

“Not just,” Booster added, “this person also had to know I have access to a time sphere, which is not exactly general knowledge here, or in our world. Unless one of you guys plant this between now and a week from now, and create a highly improbable time loop… I don’t think anyone fits all these criterions, which is all the more worrying.”

“He's saying there’s something very off about this,” Drake translated, “so far only heroes have been brought to this world, but who’s to say some of our enemies haven’t come along? And who’s to say our enemies don’t know more about us than they should?”

“The _Red Hood_ is here,” Damian reminded them, illustrating his point.

The sphere became tense. Damian was right; there already was an enemy of Batman in this world. Misfit went with the conversation however, as she presumably didn’t know who the Red Hood was, and had more pressing questions.

“I don’t understand, if you thought this Oracle was fishy, why did you follow the instructions?” She asked.

“Because I looked up the hospital scuffle in newspapers, and that I figured you guys might be like her,” Booster explained, pointing at Cain, “look, this whole thing? It’s a mess. But it’s a big one. And I can’t stay, even though this is exactly what I’m supp —“

“You _can’t_ stay,” Drake repeated, preventing Booster from speaking further. He said it like there was disbelief in what Booster had said, but it seemed to Damian that he was just consolidating it, making sure Booster knew to have confidence in his own words.

The golden hero caught himself, and gave Drake a grateful, yet almost imperceptibly frustrated, nod, “This is way above what I can do,” he corrected himself, “way too dangerous and mind-boggling. And the credit won’t travel through worlds with us, so what’s the point? But you _have_ to find a way home as quickly as possible. This can’t last. So just, you know, be careful. And good luck.”

“Thanks,” Huntress deadpanned, “don't strain yourself.”

“Where should I drop you off?” Booster asked, ignoring her.

Drake clicked his comm on.

“Wait a sec — We need to coordinate with Nightwing.”

* * *

Cassie breathed in and breathed out. She could do this. They could do this. Next to her, Connor looked cool as a cucumber, as he always did. She didn’t know what the monks at the ashram taught him, but she sure as heck would have liked some of their advise.

The blond demigod had always been more of a punch in the face type rather than a covert operative, and Diana had always insisted on the importance of truth and honesty when they trained together. She had little qualms about tricking her enemies — Zeus knew that that was how all of her brethren in Mythology beat their monsters — but sneaking around friends? It just wasn’t her. It wasn’t Connor either, or Bart, or Kon. Zach, maybe, but he was busy studying, and Greta wasn’t even in on the secret, ironically.

So it was up to Cassie and Connor.

**Ding!**

The elevator doors opened.

Somewhere along the line, Ted Kord’s elevator had become the most stressful place on the planet.

Connor grabbed her hand reassuringly as they walked out towards the door. It was warm and covered in calluses, and it was familiar, which helped Cassie calm her heart.

She tried remembering the pitch.

‘ _Hey, hi Barbara_ ,’ imaginary and hopefully two minutes into the future Cassie said, ‘ _We need a favour from you. You know how Tim and Leviathan escaped and how you’re on tracking down duty like always because you’re just that good? Do you think it would be possible to alert us first if you find anything? And like, wait a few hours before telling the League — Don’t answer yet, just let us finish first. Tim is one of us, and Leviathan has always been our opponent. They’re_ our _problem. We_ need _to be the ones to face them. We_ need _to confront them. Please. I know we shouldn’t prioritise revenge over duty, but the two aren’t in contradiction this time, so_ please _let us have this. The others won’t let us, because they think we’re sidekicks and kids, but you trusted enough to help with the traitor investigation, and I really hope you still trust us enough to allow us to conclude it. We can_ do _this.’_

This was so not going to work. Barbara Gordon-Kord was one of the smartest (if not _the_ ) people on the planet. She would see through it. Maybe. Maybe not? Barbara didn’t know Young Justice was turning their jackets inside out. But maybe she’d figure it out because of this? Great Hera, they were going to mess everything up for Zach!

“It’s going to work,” Connor told her affectionately, side hugging her as her pressed the doorbell. He always knew when she was overthinking things.

No one answered the comm.

Instead, the door flew straight open, revealing Diana. 

“Cassandra. Connor,” she greeted half-surprised, “what brings you here?”

 _Abort, abort,_ the alarms in Cassie’s head sang.

“We wanted to speak to Barbara about something,” Connor replied amicably. 

“Let them in,” Barbara called from the inside.

Diana opened the door wider, and waited for the two of them to stroll in before gently closing it behind them.

“Are you sure it’s alright?” Cassie asked, “We don’t want to interrupt—“

“It is nothing to be kept in absolute confidentiality,” Diana reassured them warmly, “Barbara is helping me track down Wayne. I consider you my sister and brother in arms, if you wish to accompany me, I will not get in your way.”

Uh oh. Not good. They had come to _delay_ Diana’s hunt, not to participate in it.

“Thanks, Di—“ Cassie started, pausing in the middle of her sentence as she caught sight of Barbara, or rather, the chair she was sitting on, or rather, the _wheel_ chair she was sitting on.

Had the baby grown so big she just toppled over when she tried standing?

“That's not how pregnancy works,” Barbara snorted, sliding her chair away from the table so they could get a better look at her feet, “I broke my ankle two days ago.”

There was plaster on her right foot indeed. Could she read minds?

“You'd be surprised how simple minded people get around pregnant women,” Barbara replied unprompted, with a sly twinkle in her eye, “come on in, sit. I’m not a big fan of having to look up to have a conversation.”

“This is seriously creepy,” Cassie told her earnestly. Barbara smiled.

Still, they all sat down around the Kords’ table. It was seriously becoming the next meeting hall.

“Yesterday, Tim and Leviathan were spotted helping Nemesis and Catgirl kidnap Black Canary from STAR,” Barbara explained, catching up the two newcomers. A bunch of reports of the accident and pictures of the damage were spread out on the table, “We know that just before this, they purchased a bunch of biking equipment with Oliver’s credit card. They’ve discarded the bike, obviously, but it would be good to remain alert for youngsters in biking gear.”

Tim was not just working with Leviathan but Nemesis as well? Cassie was glad Zach had given them the gist of what was happening, otherwise she wasn’t sure how she’d be taking the news. And Catgirl. No wonder she was even more elusive than usual. Was Black Canary one of them as well then?

Diana nodded, “I’ll tell Oliver to cancel Tim’s card as well.”

“Done,” Barbara dismissed, “Also, they might be accompanied by another metahuman. The hospital guards who were attacked claimed that someone attacked them with laser beams.”

Zeus, how many more were there? That was rhetorical, of course. Zach had said twenty. But still, it felt like they were popping up from everywhere like acne on a thirteen year old.

“Why would they take BC and not Booster?” Connor frowned, feigning ignorance.

“We don’t know,” Barbara sighed, “yet. We don’t know how they got out of the hospital either.”

“I was wondering,” Diana pointed out, “couldn’t they be working with the League of Assassins? Leviathan is their heir, Nemesis has been a student of theirs, and Lady Shiva _has_ tried to reclaim her biological daughter through the League in the past.”

“Not likely,” Barbara countered, “as Zachary Zatara reported from eavesdropping on a conversation between Tim and Talia Al Ghul, the League doesn’t even know Leviathan is still alive, and Talia and Tim have an antagonistic relationship. She tried to blackmail him with the information he was working for Wayne.”

Cassie’s mind was suddenly plunged in a bucket of ice water. No. No, no, no. This was not happening.

Except, it was, and her blood was turning cold.

She felt frozen.

Thank Zeus. It was that, punch someone, or cry.

Diana nodded, “Thank you Barbara, I will look at the scene at STAR for more clues.” 

The Amazon stood up, slid her chair back in, and gave a last smile to Connor and Cassie.

“You are welcome to join me when you’re done with your business,” she said.

“We told the others we’d only be away a short while,” Connor apologised.

“Of course,” Diana understood, “sticking together is important in time like these. Tell the others hello for me.”

“Will do,” Cassie managed to pipe in before someone caught her blocking on human interaction.

The door closed shut.

“So,” Barbara leaned back, “how can I help you two?"

“We wanted to ask you —“ Connor started.

“We really just wanted an update on Tim,” Cassie cut in, pinching her own leg to stay awake and focused on the present, “do you really not have anything else?”

Barbara gave her a sympathetic smile, “I'm sorry, Cassie. What I told Diana was all I knew.”

“Oh,” Cassie replied dejectedly, which wasn’t hard to fake considering how empty she was feeling suddenly, “Sorry for wasting your time then.”

Connor sent her a confused glance. 

“We’ll be on our way too, then,” Cassie said, addressing Connor as much as she was addressing Barbara.

“I’ll contact you if I find anything else,” Barbara promised.

“Thank you,” Connor nodded, “Tim is…”

“Very important to the both of you, I know,” Barbara finished kindly, “we’ll find him.”

Cassie kept the act up all the way down the elevator, squeezing Connor’s hand hard when he tried to asked her what was wrong. She covered their silence with meaningless conversations about Zach not coping well with Zatanna’s death and how small Young Justice was compared to a month ago.

The second they stepped out of the tower, Cassie grabbed Connor and flew him to an empty rooftop.

“What was that ab—“ Connor started.

“When we were still under the impression Tim was the traitor,” Cassie cut in sternly, “what did you think occurred between him and Talia when he got kidnapped?”

“I figured it was just a way to exchange information,” Connor shrugged, “but I hadn’t heard the full story from Zach. It makes sense that he was being suspected by the League of Assassins as well though.”

“Zach was angry when he told it, so he told it in a _very_ biased way. He didn’t include anything that could hint at Tim being cornered. You didn’t hear the whole story? Neither did I, to be honest. But most importantly, neither did _Barbara_.”

“What?”

“How did she know Tim was blackmailed? I was with him when he told her what he heard. And _I_ didn’t know about it, which meant he didn’t tell _her_ either.”

Connor frowned.

“You don’t think… Gorgon _can’t_ be the traitor.”

“Remember how Roy seemed to be convinced someone was framing Tim?” Cassie answered pointedly, “Now that we know Tim is actually innocent, it makes sense. Gorgon was directing the traitor’s hunt all along. She’s the one who insisted we look into Tim. She’s the one who found the traces of Tim’s hacking. She’s the one who unearthed Tim’s fake rumours about Superboy.”

“But that as all real, wasn’t it? Other Tim is working with Leviathan.”

“But don’t you think she would have found something about the _real_ traitor by now?” She insisted.

“Well, if she’s focused on Tim…” Connor tried reasoning, “Look, it’s just hard to believe. If Gorgon was helping our enemies, than they'd have enough information to… to do something really catastrophic, like, I don’t know, like…”

“Like wipe out the _entire_ Justice Society?” Cassie hissed.

Connor paled considerably.

* * *

“Clark!” Dick called from Wayne’s room, “Tim is contacting us.”

Clark. It was hard getting used to being called that by complete strangers. No one called him Clark anymore, other than his parents. Even Kara and Kon called him Kal-El, when it wasn’t Superman. He never introduced himself as Clark these days, or rather, he never introduced himself at all anymore. Everyone knew Superman, and Clark Kent was just some unremarkable chap who’d worked at the Daily Planet once upon a time, and who no one even remembered anymore.

But this young man, Dick, knew him best as Clark Kent.

It should have alarmed him, when a complete stranger turned up at the front door of the Fortress of Solitude. When the stranger called himself Nightwing — hero of a long dead people. When the young man covered half his face in black makeup.

Superman had been doing this job for decades now, he knew how dangerous it was for a stranger to know so much. And it made him wonder, what kind of madness had him invite the stranger inside? He had chalked it up to the young man’s passionate argument about the death penalty and the role of heroes. Rao knew Nightwing had spoken like he’d defended the cause his whole life. He’d chalked it up to the fact that if Nightwing wanted him harm, he’d already have done it. Clearly he knew enough.

But now that he knew about who they were, all of them, Clark realised that maybe it was slightly different. Maybe it was how he hadn’t gaped upon seeing him — How Nightwing had acted as if there was no social wall between them. How he’d been talking to him as if he’d been talking to a… a… a _friend_.

It was so strange.

He had this reputation of good, of trustworthiness — he was the poster child of heroism in America — and yet Clark was finally noticing that of all the people he’d met over the years, these ‘Bats' were the only ones to truly believe that. Everyone else acted like he could incinerate them with his eyes. They weren’t necessarily afraid, and maybe they didn’t think he’d do it, but the possibility was on their mind, and they just didn’t understand that he _couldn’t_. They could point a gun at his parents’ heads, and he still couldn’t kill another person. His heart wouldn’t let him. It _wasn’t_ an option.

But people still spoke like he could. People still thought him all powerful. They either feared him or admired him, but there wasn’t a single person out there who really trusted him.

When was it?

When was it that he’d become so unreachable for the world?

When was it that he gave up on Clark Kent, on himself?

Clark flew to Wayne’s room, where the earpiece had passed from Dick to Wayne.

“I understand Nemesis has a past with the League of Assassins,” Wayne was saying, “Huntress, you should rejoin with Azrael and professor Langstorm, and coordinate to gather info from the inside. See if you can find out more about the Calculator, or any other movement we should be aware of. Warn us if they might find out about Robin being alive, or if they already have.”

Superman paused, startled.

One day, they were all a bunch of refugees from the law, lost people from another world, but the second Wayne had started speaking, it was like everyone in the room had straightened out and ordered themselves. The tension in the room had shifted, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like a small igloo anymore.

Wayne looked like crap, and he was completely bedridden. Stephanie was sitting on the floor. Dick, on the bedside table. Todd was rocking on the bedside chair. Clark was floating above the door. By all means, this was a casual hospital visit at best.

And yet the whole place suddenly became a war room. It was almost frightening.

“Misfit,” he continued, “go to the Batcave — I trust you know where it is — find a young woman called Harper Row and help her however you can. Look over item 12 in the blueprints. We’ll contact you using this. Actually — Pop in the Fortress of Solitude, we need to discuss your role in depth.”

Pop in? People couldn’t just—

Poof.

Catgirl appeared in the room in a cloud of smoke. Wayne nodded at her, not even startled.

“What the _fuck_?” Todd swore, jumping from his seat, “What the actual fuck?”

At least Clark wasn’t the only one not completely cool with that.

“Language,” Stephanie chided.

“Reporting for duty!” Catgirl announced with a springy salute.

“She _knows_?!” Todd asked in disbelief.

Stephanie shrugged, “She snuck into the Clocktower without O noticing, trust me, she knows.”

“ _How_?” 

“Oracle says she’s the most powerful teleporter she’s met, and O basically knows every meta,” the blond replied, finger gunning at Catgirl, who finger gunned back until the words hit her. 

“She _said_ that?” She squealed.

It wasn’t really an answer, but considering she had just appeared out of nowhere into one of the most well defended fortresses in the world, Clark couldn’t help but accept it as it was.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Wayne ordered gruffly before resuming his assignment of tasks, “Black Bat. You’re the only one no one knows is working with us. The general public and the Justice League thinks we kidnapped you. Stay low. Don’t be seen until we figure out how to capitalise on your status. Follow the Robins as potential backup, figure out a signal and logistics between the three of you.”

Clark couldn’t help it. There was something about the way Wayne spoke, with absolute confidence and authority, that had drums beating rhythmically in his ears. He wondered if that was how soldiers used to feel like when war was still said to be an act of glory. He commanded the room like no one else Superman had ever seen. Even Wonder Woman didn’t have the same dominating presence, and yet she was a creature of mythology.

For a playboy billionaire, the man was dangerously inspiring. If he ever was to lead a bigger force, like the League…

“Robins,” Wayne added, “you need to find out who the real traitor in the Justice League is. Proving our innocence with concrete evidence will make it easier to move around in this world. You’ve been around the hero community the most; I’m sure you’ll have a better idea where to start than anyone else.”

Wayne looked up to his immediate entourage.

“Nightwing will investigate Oracle,” he decided, “if Oracle contacts any of you again, get the message to him. Misfit can bring you Booster’s card —”

Poof.

Poof.

Catgirl handed a green card to Dick.

“— and you try to get the Titans to let you in the Watchtower, see if you can find any traces of Oracle in the auxiliary system for the holding cells."

His eyes landed on the people left.

“Batgirl and Red Hood will remain here as emergency dispatch agents,” he finished.

“You're _benching_ us?” Todd growled.

Wayne ignored him and focused on what the person at the end of the comm was saying. Clark extended his hearing to catch it.

“ _The teams are not very balanced_ ,” Red Speedy was saying, “ _if Nightwing needs assistance, Robin  or Huntress could meet up with him. His job is the one we know the least about — he’s going in blind. He needs backup more than we do_.”

“No,” Wayne disagreed, “Nightwing is doing this on his own. Don’t stick to the Titans,” he told Dick, “if you move in a group, this Oracle might spot you and if they’re half as good as ours and hostile, your investigation will end there.”

Dick nodded.

“ _If you’re sure_ ,” Red Speedy accepted.

“Misfit will come to each of you with details of our communication system,” he concluded, “move out.”

The line went dead.

No hellos, no goodbyes.

“Superman, get Nightwing where he needs to go.”

Clark blinked. All eyes were on him. Wait — was he part of this covert mission too? Why was Wayne ordering him around like it was the most natural thing to do? Why was everyone expecting him to just, go along?

“What? Have you lost your understanding of the english language?” Wayne urged.

“Don't mind him,” Dick cringed, grabbing Clark’s arm and pulling out of the room with him before whispering, “that's how he says please.”

“He should change it,” Clark told him as they walked away, “it really makes me want to _not_ do what he says.”

“Yeah but then you do it out of spite,” Dick sighed.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Clark pointed out.

“Doesn't it?”

The question had an obvious answer, only, Clark could sort of get what Dick was trying to say. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was angry Wayne had implied he couldn’t understand and execute simple tasks, or if it was a deep desire of proving himself to be the bigger man by not reacting childishly to his taunts, but Clark let his shoulder slump.

“It makes _perfect_ sense,” he admitted.

“No one wants to lose to Batman,” Dick explained, “He’s an ass. And before you know it, you’re willing to die for him.”

* * *

“Roy.”

Roy looked up from his phone. He was at a cafe, where Connor had urgently asked to meet with him. It was Cassie who spoke to him though, with Connor trailing behind her. She hadn’t even finished sitting down when she asked him without greeting:

“How do you feel about pitting your hacking skills against Gorgon’s?”

“I'm more of a mechanic than a computer scientist,” Roy told them with a raised eyebrow, “she will crush me in the blink of an —“

“Roy,” Cassie urged, “how do you feel about pitting your hacking skills against Gorgon’s?”

Roy leaned back on his chair, wary, “What’s the job?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted the prologue of the Cass & Jay thing I mentioned last chapter, so go check it out if you can! It's the first part of the series I added the BC to: Tales of the Scented Harbour. 
> 
> Next up: Oracle strikes again, Batman v Superman: recess edition episode II, Mia Dearden makes an appearance, and Jason has feelings for Bruce: anger.


	17. Word spill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the lines, the Bats have become the backbone of their hero community. Not necessarily the strongest or the smartest out there, but definitely the poles allowing the flags to display their colours high, all while keeping them anchored to the ground. Perhaps they can be a good influence on this community too.
> 
> Tim and Young Justice finally talk it out. Meanwhile, Bruce tries to talk it out with Jason, but for some reason, the worlds hates him today.

Tim dropped the bag of groceries on the bed after he shut the window by which he came in close. They weren’t exactly renting a hotel room, but since Tim had changed its status to occupied on the hotel's computers while Damian distracted the Reception, well, it really amounted to the same thing. It was just for one night, and it wasn’t like they were planning on damaging it or anything.

Cass grabbed the first sandwich she found without even looking at the flavour. It didn’t matter much to her. Food was food. She grabbed a plastic fork and used it to hold her hair in a bun. Damian and Tim practically had had to manhandle her not to cut it short — she found the colour too bright for stealth, and the length fairly impractical. Her hair had grown black again at the roots, but she still had meant to cut quite a significant amount. It wasn’t her body to do as she wanted with though.

Damian crinkled his nose in disgust at the poor quality of store-brought sandwiches, and immediately reached for the salad Tim had remembered to buy for him. He returned to the armchair at the small desk, leaving Tim and Cass to sit on the bed. 

Tim himself grabbed a pack of chips. He was all for healthy dinners.

The pack opened without a sound.

“Impressive,” Damian admitted begrudgingly.

There were some skill you could only learn on stakeouts. Tim thought he should show Damian how he opened candy wrappers one day. Hell, he could even do hygienic pads (don’t ask — but Steph had been badgering him for _years_ to get his trick).

“Right, first order of business —“ Tim started. Only, as per his streak of good luck in this world, he was interrupted.

A phone rang.

The three vigilantes froze.

Ring!

They looked at each other.

Ring!

They had given _all_ their communication devices to Misfit — there wasn’t a single item in the whole room that _could_ ring, save for the hotel phone they had _disconnected_.

Ring!

They looked at the black bag Roy had given them, where the ringing seemed to come from. Carefully, Damian grabbed it and zipped it open. He frisked the inside of the bag until he found a hidden compartment that was vibrating. A slice of the fabric later, and Damian was holding a red earpiece.

“Yours?” He asked Tim.

“No.”

“Crush it,” Cass told him, following Bruce’s protocol. Tracking devices were easy to hide, and in the case of the unknown, it was best not to take any risks, “We move out.”

“Wait,” Tim halted him, “I think I know who it is.”

Damian raised an eyebrow but he threw him the ear piece nonetheless. Tim caught it, and answered the call.

“Roy?” He guessed.

“Timbers!” Roy greeted from the other end, “Thank God you didn’t discard the bag,” rookie mistake, they’d remember next time, “I’m sorry about tricking you into taking this device with you—“

“You work for a secret agency,” Tim sighed, “I should _really_ have expected this.”

Besides, the Bat-budget for tracking devices was practically as high as the one for batarangs, and God knew they didn’t go cheap on those. Who was he to judge?

“I know where you are,” Roy revealed, “but I swear I didn't tell anyone who wants to capture you.”

“So who _did_ you tell?” Tim asked, narrowing his eyes. Damian and Cass tensed.

“Young Justice,” Roy answered. Tim groaned. “Wait wait! Don’t do anything! They don’t think you’re the traitor anymore! And they have something they _really_ wanted to tell you!”

“That sounds very much like a trap!” Tim hissed.

“Don’t hang up!” Roy pleaded, “They said something about Barbatros, whatever that is!”

Barbatros.

“Barbatros,” Tim repeated, deadpan. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Looks like this world was throwing them a new curveball.

“They said they know about your connection to the Bat symbol,” Roy parroted, wary of his own words, “and that they want to help sending the bats home…? Look, it doesn’t make sense to me, but apparently it should to you.”

They knew? How — No, no. That didn’t matter right now; If they knew, then it wasn’t a trap. Young Justice was a bit naive at times, but they were unconditionally good. What did matter was that this was their first hint at explaining their situation, and Tim _couldn’t_ let it go. Maybe they could finally go home.

Though, what the fuck did _Barbatros_ have to do with this?

“Place and time,” Tim demanded.

“There's a large cemetery two streets from your hotel,” Roy obliged, “it's closed at this time, and far away from any crowded places. The trees and hedge should hide you from anyone outside.”

* * *

With Dick gone, it was much easier for Bruce to sneak out of bed. The Fortress’s medical facilities let him heal faster than usual, but Diana was not the best fighter of the Justice for nothing. Everything hurt, and had he been less accustomed to it, Bruce would have opted to be induced in some kind of coma until the worst passed.

Unfortunately, he was Batman, and that meant that he couldn’t sleep as long as one of his operatives was still out there.

Bruce was walking to the central room of the Fortress to work on some contingency plans for team Cheshire when he came across Stephanie storming away from his destination. She didn’t seem hurt, physically or emotionally, but there was thunder in her eyes, the same kind of thunder that had once led her to slapping him.

“Something wrong?” he asked, marking a pause in his walk.

Stephanie glared at him, stomping her way over. “ _You_ ,” she scowled accusingly, “Jason's having a tantrum and of course _I_ have to take the brunt of it because _you_ can’t face your fucking problems! I’m tired of your shit, _both_ of you. Deal with it now, or I swear to God I’ll commit a massacre myself and have this Justice League end me.”

The blonde blew past him without stopping, crushing all possible chance Bruce had of justifying himself. She didn’t even have a small comment on him being out of bed.

Bruce didn’t continue on his way immediately. He hadn’t been very supportive of Stephanie and Jason’s friendship at first, mostly due to them bonding over his mistakes like they were uniting against a common enemy, however, he found that the thought of them fighting wasn’t better. He hated to admit it but… Stephanie was the closet thing to a bridge between Jason and the family. Jason blew up at everyone save for her, and she still wore the bat across her chest, gold on black.

Bruce on the other hand, well, just breathing in the same space as Jason made him angry.

Bruce deflated. He hated when Stephanie was right. He _was_ leaving Jason for Stephanie to deal with, because it was the easy way out. Because then Jason was close enough, and while they weren’t on the same page, at least they were in the same book.

He had two choices now: go back to bed and - sigh - _rest_ , or walk to the central room where Jason was no doubt fuming from his latest fight with Batgirl. He had no illusion about how _that_ conversation would go; there was a profound ethical chasm between him and the Red Hood that went far deeper than any personal issue they had. Even if Jason were to ever forgive him, they would never see eye to eye, and the Batman would have to fight the Red Hood again and again.

His ribs did hurt quite a bit.

_"It is tragic that he didn’t think of you more in your death than when you were alive."_

_"Don't waste your fucking time asking, he won’t say no."_

_“Yeah, I’m gone.”_

_“You're benching us?”_

But maybe he’d ignored Jason’s jabs for too long.

“Look who dares show up,” Jason snarked upon seeing Bruce come in, “did Steph run crying to you? I thought better of her.”

The younger vigilante was feigning disinterested cool, seemingly reading a book at the main table.

"Jason,” Bruce chided, partly warning him, partly greeting him. He took a seat at the table, far enough to leave him space, but not too far that it looked like Bruce wanted to distance them.

“Bruce,” Jason mimicked mockingly.

“I feel like I need to clarify something,” Bruce started, choosing his words carefully. Jason wasn’t meeting his eyes, focusing them on his book instead. He was obviously not reading however; he just didn't want Bruce to know he had the floor. “I'm not benching you or Steph. Everyone else already had an in into their respective missions and —"

“And Grayson is the only one you like enough to allow out of your eyesight,” Jason finished bitterly, “it's cool. No need to explain yourself."

“Someone had to investigate Oracle, but we still need spare agents, and with everyone already being on the field except for you —” Bruce tried to explain again.

“Your tactical bullshit?” Jason continued, “I don’t buy it. The Cheshire team could easily spare one of its member as a dispatch agent, and Cass's job is a bit redundant. Just becasue they're on the field doesn't mean they can't have any adaptive mobility. Plus, Steph and I were both trained for stealth, and you know very well I can elude even you when it comes to working underground. Having a few people around Grayson wouldn’t risk his exposure, not if it’s us.”

“Dick needs to do this _alone_ ,” Bruce insisted with an irritated glare.

“I know you were listening to our fight the other day, way before Supes came in,” Jason scoffed, “you don’t trust me either. You’re just scared I’ll go and hurt your golden boy.”

“Not everything is about _you,_ Jason!” Bruce snapped.

Jason shook his head ruefully, in complete disbelief. He stood up, and simply walked away. “Whatever, Bruce,” he dismissed angrily, “I don’t know why I even bother anymore. I have a second chance at life and I won’t waste it trying to play house with you. We go home, and then we’re fucking done.”

The conversation ended quickly and efficiently, just like Bruce had always taught his students to act.

“That went well,” Bruce muttered under his breath as he tiredly dropped his head in his hands. Next time, he’d let Steph deal with it. So much for having an enlightening talk with Jason. Points for trying?

“Trouble in paradise?”

Did everyone hate Bruce today?

“What do _you_ want, Superman?” Bruce growled, turning his glare to the alien floating in from the other side, a curious look on his face.

Superman raised his hands in the air in surrender, “I was just making conversation.”

“Don’t.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too friendly for your own good?” Superman deadpanned as he approached and hovered behind the seat in front of Bruce.

Bruce glared at him.

“And chatty as well,” Superman whistled, “I came here to tell you the Justice League is still hunting you down. You sure you don’t want to let it leak that you’re actually innocent? The whole world’s after your blood.”

“I don’t care what the whole world thinks,” Bruce told him briskly.

“Maybe you should?” Superman suggested, “I mean, those are the people we’re protecting. You did say you were a superhero, right? Antagonising the good guys is usually a bad idea.”

“Why does popular opinion matter so much to you?” Bruce asked irritably.

“We can’t really call ourselves heroes if the mere mention of our names frightens the ones we protect,” Superman pointed out, “we should make them feel safe, hopeful. Besides, acting against the law when it clearly helps the world is one thing, but acting against what everyone thinks is best? If everyone disagrees, you’re probably the one in the wrong. So something’s obviously not right if the world wants you dead, Wayne. You should consider playing nice with others.”

“You have the wrong job if you can’t trust your own opinions,” Bruce told him dryly, “we act outside the law because we think it’s the right thing to do not because others are asking us to; we do it to defend _our_ values, _our_ beliefs. It takes a great amount of _personal_ conviction to arrest criminals by becoming one of them. Heroes aren’t about who hits the hardest. It has always been our choices which defined us, where _we_ draw the line. If your choices aren’t your own, then you’re no hero Clark. You’re a weapon, and if you don’t start second guessing your orders, one day you’ll find yourself pointed at the people you thought you were protecting.”

“I wouldn’t,” Superman frowned, “I don’t take orders from anyone.”

“Not directly,” Bruce pointed out, “but you won’t go against popular opinion. The thing is, the popular masses aren’t traditional heroes — most of them are scared, selfish. Sometimes, discrimination and hatred wins the majority. The majority isn’t always right.”

“And we are?” Superman scoffed, “We're not omniscient gods, Wayne. We do what we think is best, but presuming we know better than others is—"

“I wouldn’t trust the Clark I know as much as I do if he wasn’t such a sanctimonious boy scout all the time,” Bruce confessed shortly, “it's what makes him human. What makes him one of us. He’ll take the risk of being wrong. Just like every other citizen is allowed to vote and campaign, Clark knows he has the right to get involved in politics and decisions, and he uses it. Democracy only works if your rights are as much of an obligation as your duties.” 

“A citizen? A human?” Superman repeated with no small amount of disbelief, “ _Me_? I can fry people with a look.”

“ _You’re_ not human, Superman,” Bruce shot down, “the Clark I know has always been more human than the rest of us, ironically, but _you’ve_ given that up when you moved in here permanently and stuffed Clark Kent in some forgotten closet.”

Superman grit his teeth, “I'm _not_ like everyone else,” he said, “and pretending to be only adds to the contrast. You don’t understand. I’m too different.”

Bruce understood different. But that wasn’t something this Superman could realise. Bruce was different within the hero community, with his obsessive demeanour and disagreeable nature. Bruce was different amongst Gothamites, with his riches and fortune. Bruce was different from the elite, with his drive and his addiction to thrill and justice. But Bruce revelled in being different, while Clark had always found strength in being another face in the crowd.

“And that won’t change until _you_ make an effort to integrate society,” Bruce finished, “stop thinking you’re so special. You’re just another meta-human, just another weird guy on this planet. Normal is a social construct that only exists in your head. This planet has welcomed many aliens now, and this country in particular was founded by immigrants, so get off your pedestal and fight for your place in this world like everyone else.”

* * *

“Try anything and you will regret it,” Tim said, “I have kryptonite and backup.”

“ _Jesus_ _fucking Christ!_ ” Kon swore, grabbing his heart, “Warn a guy!”

As promised, Young Justice was in the middle of the cemetery, missing Zach and having added Connor. Cassie had left her lasso on the Super-Cycle, with Connor’s bow and quiver. It was the simplest gesture for pacifist intent.

Cassie, Connor and Bart also took a step back in surprise as Tim practically materialised behind Kon. Learning that trick alone made up for all the shit Bruce put them through for ‘training’. That, and the disappearing stunt. It was always fun to pull. His Kon _hated_ it. Bruce himself had once admitted there was little practical use for it.

The four young heroes looked at Tim for a second, as if reassessing him. He couldn’t blame them, if they really had just realised he wasn’t their Tim.

“So?” He prompted, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one leg. Damian and Cass were hidden nearby, ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble. He didn’t expect any to be honest, but it was soothing to know they were right behind him.

“Are you God?” Bart blurted out.

Tim blinked. “What."

“Are you a god?” the speedster repeated, “or maybe some kind of demon?”

What even.

Tim gave a long, clearly audible sigh. “I should have known something was off when Roy mentioned Barbatros. What exactly do you know?”

Cassie spoke over whatever Bart wanted to say, fortunately, “You’re from another dimension,” she told him, “and you serve under the Bat god Barbatros. You were brought here to complete a job for him, to help the hero community of Earth.”

 _Jesus_.

“Barbatros isn’t even _real._ ” Tim groaned, “What — How does the _notion_ of Barbatros even _exist_ in your world? Barbatros was just a myth created when Bruce went back in time and then tricked the Archivist into — doesn’t even matter. How are you guys so close to the truth yet so comically far from it? What hole did you find your info in?”

“Wait,” Kon frowned, “how much do _you_ know about your situation?”

Tim glared at him.

“Oh man,” Bart grimaced, “I told you guys! They have _no idea!_ ”

“We're not from an other dimension,” Tim clarified pettily, as if to prove he did know _something_ , “if we want to be semantically correct, we’re from an alternate _universe_.”

“There's a difference?” Kon asked skeptically, not buying it.

“An other dimension is somewhere which exists in a different pocket of time and space,” Bart answered, “and an alternate universe lies in the same spatio-temporal coordinates but on a different plane of existence… Well, the easiest way to picture it is to say that it vibrates at a different frequency.”

Tim nodded.

“You guessed right that I’m not Red Speedy,” Tim continued, “but I _am_ Tim Drake, just another version of the one you know, and you’re all alternate versions of my best friends. Our worlds are mostly similar, but there are some inconsistencies which are impossible to ignore.”

“That explains how you knew things only Tim could,” Connor nodded. 

"Thank god that’s cleared up,” Tim agreed, “If I had to pretend to be GA’s sidekick and eat his lethal chili _one_ more day… Anyway, your source?”

“Zach,” Connor replied, “if he’s not here it’s because he’s trying to find a way back home for you in his books. He may have… a _ccidentally_ summoned you all.”

Silence.

“It was an _accident_?” Tim growled.

Bart raised his hands in a ‘waitwait' gesture, “He had pretty good reasons to do so, actually, but he should be the one to tell you, if he can’t find a way to override his original spell.”

“He better have,” Tim warned.

“I take it you don’t like this world much?” Kon guessed conversationally.

“My name is Tim Drake- _Wayne_ ,” Tim told them with a scowl, "there’s a witch hunt out for my _adoptive father_ , who got beaten _half to death_ by Diana, I’ve been _framed_ by _your_ traitor — who really exists by the way, I’ve had to _fake my little brother’s death_ to get him away from the League of _Assassins_ , I’m being _blackmailed_ by _Talia Al Ghul_ , I’ve had to pretend to _mourn my dad_ after it took _years_ to get over his death, I’ve had to answer to that stupid Red Speedy name _for a month,_ and everyone keeps thinking I’m _in fucking denial_! What do you _think_?”

Cassie cringed. Tim almost felt sorry for her. They probably didn’t really deserve his dishing it out on them.

“Sorry,” she apologised meekly.

“Bruce Wayne is your _dad_?” Bart gaped, slightly disgusted.

“He’s a Justice Leaguer in our world, the Batman,” Tim informed him shortly, feeling defensive, “and we’re his… It’s complicated. Students, associates, dead sidekicks, random people who turn into bats, whatever.”

Kon snorted, “A Justice Leaguer? What’s his thing? Money?”

“Everything I do he does better,” Tim replied with a challenging glare.

“What _can_ you - oh,”  Bart realised, probably having flashbacks to all the crap Tim had pulled in the past month. Tim couldn’t help a smug smile as the others took on more peeved expressions.

“Do you not have any connections to us then?” Connor asked with a hint of apprehension. Tim let his anger go.

“I'm sorry, Connor,” he apologised with real sympathy, “but the Arrows are simply colleagues to me. We’re friends, and the current Speedy is a member of the Teen Titans I lead, the team my Young Justice grew up to be, but the people I consider family are the ones being hunted down by your League. You understand why I can’t let that happen.”

Connor’s gaze went to the ground, downcast. For a very brief moment, Tim wanted to take his words back and shove them down his throat again — but only for a brief moment. They were listening, which meant Tim could speak, and he would be heard this time.

“The Batman,” Cassie mused, “if you really have nothing to do with the bat god, I’m taking that’s what the symbol means to you. It’s like Superboy’s shield.”

Tim nodded.

“And — speak of the devil,“ Tim paused, his eyes caught on the tombstone at his feet. Of all the graves… It was one of those graves that was easy to miss. Small, and remarkably unremarkable amongst its peers. The stone was of poor quality, and already the name — painted, not engraved — was fading. It had probably only taken a rainy day or two for it to look twenty years older than it was.

But it wasn’t.

It was only a year old. Still, it was much too old. She shouldn’t — She deserved so much better than an early death. In both worlds.

He was glad it was there, though. Because it meant someone had cared enough to spend money they didn’t have in her memory.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cassie gasped softly as she saw what kept him.

“Is that… Someone you know from your world?” she asked carefully.

Tim kneeled and brushed a bit of dirt of the stone.

“When I first came to this world,” Tim confessed, “I felt like it was a brighter, easier world to live in than the one we came from. Your Tim got three more years to live as a civilian, and three more years with his father. Young Justice was still a sidekick clubhouse, Ted Kord was still alive, and most importantly, there was no need for a Batman.”

“And now?” Kon asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Now?” Tim repeated, dusting himself as he stood up, “Young Justice, meet Mia Dearden. In another world, she goes by Speedy, and is probably one of the most admirable young women on Earth. Her life is not an easy one to live by far — but she powers through everyday with a smile on her face and crass humour on her lips. She’s one of us — a Titan.”

“Speedy?” Connor repeated, surprised.

“She’s like a sister, like your Tim Drake to you” Tim told him sadly, “but I guess she never got to fight by GA’s side here.”

“Tim… I’m sorry,” Cassie sympathised.

“Don't be,” Tim told her, “the one who should feel sorry is me. I’m sorry your world never gave her chance. That none of you got to meet her. If your Tim couldn’t persuade you not to underestimate non-metas, maybe she would have.”

Mia wasn’t one to suffocate her opinions. She spoke when she had words to speak, and that was something Tim had always found admirable. How couldn’t he? Between his parents’ serial absence, his initial inexperience as a Robin, and then his discredited mental stability, Tim had gotten used to the futility of speaking his mind.

But right now, Connor, Cassie, Kon, and Bart all had their attentions on him, and suddenly, Tim found that he couldn’t stop talking. He had so much to say; he always had so much to say, but it was only now that he had ears to listen to him.

“You guys need to wake up,” Tim declared sternly, “your world isn’t younger or brighter — it’s unprepared. Your hero community lacks structure and you’re all too scared to hurt each other’s feelings to speak your minds.”

“Excuse me?” Bart scoffed, clearly put off by Tim’s suddenly critical attitude.

“You want to know why there’s a traitor rooted so deep?” Tim shot back, “How I managed to fool you for a whole month? Why Superman and the League are so distant? Why you’ve been treated with kid gloves despite some of you reaching eighteen already? It’s really not that hard. You guys all just roll with what life sends your way. You put faith where you could just as easily get a real confirmation. You agree practically out of habit, even when you don’t really want to. I mean, the evidence against me was overwhelming, and the only one confronting me head on was Zach! That was _not_ the time for trusting and moping — You’re passive, _reactive_ at best.”

“So what?” Cassie huffed, “You think we should be more like you? Cold? _Manipulative_?”

“ _Assertive_ ,” Tim corrected with a hiss, “you have no idea how much potential you have if you’d just start believing a bit in yourselves! The Titans I know—“

“We're _not_ your Titans,” Connor reminded him strongly.

“You're right,” Tim agreed between clenched teeth, “ _my_ Cassie doesn’t hide under a wig and doesn’t get panic attacks leading our team. _My_ Kon got over his cold feet on his own when the world needed him to step up to the shield on his chest. _My_ Bart once read _and memorised_ a whole library in the blink of an eye to prove he wasn’t a joke — right after Deathstroke blew up his knee.”

“Ouch,” Bart winced, bringing a hand to his heart as if Tim’s words had physically hurt him. They probably had. Their counterparts were every bit the heroes they wanted to be recognised as. And there Tim was, rubbing it in their faces.

He wasn’t pulling his punches either. Cassie’s anxiety, Kon’s self-consciousness, Bart’s need to prove himself… He was attacking what ate at them the most, and he knew it. Cassie looked like he had just killed her mother in front of her, and Kon was suddenly very frustrated at his feet. Connor was angry on behalf of his girlfriend, but he kept his cool.

"You’re _not_ them,” Tim continued, more softly, “and they’re not you. But we were Young Justice once too, and now the League doesn’t get a say in what we do anymore. We stood our ground. And you… You can too. You’re not them but you have _no idea_ how alike you are. I _know_ you can do this. You’re _brilliant_. All of you. Do you think you can’t possibly know better because you’re young? Because you’re not as powerful as your mentors? Back home, people think twice before dismissing the young and the powerless. But there’s no Batman or Robin in this world to prove everyone wrong for you. You’re going to have to do it _yourself_.”

“Inside fighting won’t help anyone,” Connor pointed out, “we have enough problems without instigating a teenage rebellion.”

“Confrontation is not the same as fighting,” Tim argued, “there’s not a hero out there who is perfect. Sometimes, someone will go too far. Sometimes, someone will make devastating choices. Sometimes, someone will be plain wrong. It could be your friend. It could be Wonder Woman. Hell, it could even be Superman. But if it does happen,” Tim jabbed a finger in Connor’s chest and met his eyes, "it’s _your_ duty to block their path and bring them around. Don’t let someone you love fall when you can see the edge they’re walking towards. It’s _turning a blind eye_ that doesn’t help anyone. The absence of conflicting opinions breeds narrow minds and prejudice.”

He glanced at the grave behind him wistfully, and added “ _She_ knows that. Better than most.”

Tim deflated.

“Look, I know I have no right to force my opinion on you,” he conceded, “you're not my Teen Titans, and I’m not your leader. I admit part of this is just everything I‘ve been bottling up this past month blowing up, but I’ve been hanging around you guys for just as much time. I’ve seen you hunting Damian out of anger, and I’ve seen you fight back to back against the League of Assassins. You have a heart in the right place and passion to spare, _use_ them. You’re not just sidekicks, you’re heroes, and it’s time to step up for your own names — no more excuses.“

For a few seconds, only Tim’s breath could be heard. The others were all stunned by the sheer volume of his speech. Tim himself was feeling a bit light, finally releasing the words he had contained for so long.

“Been wanting to say that for a while, have you?” Kon smirked knowingly.

“You have _no idea_ ,” Tim snorted, relaxing his tension, “you guys always get me to go all sappy. How about we go compare notes with Zach? I’d like to know more about our situation, and I think I also have some info that can help you hunt down the traitor in your community.”

“That was _sappy_?” Tim heard Bart whisper to Cassie. The demigod shrugged in response.

* * *

Charlie popped into the Batcave — or rather, what was slowly becoming the Batcave. Black Mask’s kid gang, led by Harper Row, were following the plans Batman and the Red Hood had come up with during their stay. The blueprints were nowhere as glamorous as the actual Batcave, or even the Clocktower, but already the dark, damp hole that was the cave under Wayne Manor was become something of a military headquarter. 

Crates of cheap but still functional technologies were being assembled slowly, and while no aesthetic remodelling was being made, chairs and tables started sprouting here and there. It was a dirtier, more primitive Batcave, but it felt all the less intimidating. Maybe it was the kids running around, and the constant background chatter. Or maybe it was the bats, who hadn’t been chased away by construction work. Either way, the cave felt somewhat warmer.

Q, a small eleven year old wannabe gangster, jumped on the spot when Charlie poofed next to him.

“Geez, woman!” He breathed.

“Heya Q,” Charlie greeted with a grin, “got the signal. Anything I can help with?”

“Harp wants to see ya,” Q told her, jerking his head to where Harper was connecting a bunch of wires under a truck.

Charlie nodded and teleported herself across the small distance.

“Harper!” She smiled, “You wanted to talk?”

“One second,” Harper said, her voice muffled under the vehicle. Charlie waited patiently for the sound of tinkering to stop. Harper slid out, covered in dirt. “I found this pinned to the wall of the cave this morning,” she said, as she got up, taking out a card from her pocket, “it wasn’t there yesterday, and we haven’t installed any cameras yet. Jay told us to look out for anything weird, so I figured you could get this to him? Or to whoever Wayne put in charge of strange events?”

Charlie took the card, and immediately recognised the style. Oracle green, with a newspaper collage of letters on it.

“This could help Nightwing,” she agreed before frowning, “or possibly just confuse him a lot."

_‘The Calculator is Luthor’s prized pawn. Find them. Don’t trust 'me'. -O’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Dick follows the bread crumbs, Supergirl gets Superman in trouble, and Zach finally explains what the fuck is going on.


	18. Compartmentalisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't matter which universe he's in, Ted Kord has a talent for investigating leads that will most likely get him killed. He's always been too smart, too brave, and too little lucky.  
> Dick on the other hand, finds that the job he was assigned to is an incredible bad fit for him. Bruce should have known better.  
> Tim, between his rants, realises that Bruce does know better.

It was surprisingly hard to find a quiet place these days. Ted had always assumed that his life was so loud because of his own shenanigans, but as it turns out, it came with the job. The noise was just so much more enjoyable when it was him laughing around. Even the offended reproaches of his prank victims were fairly tolerable. Nowadays though, the noise was suffocating. His apartment was constantly occupied by strategic meetings with Barbara, and conversations swam around traitors and escapees and dead friends. Wherever he went, everyone else was busy buzzing around with blood-thirst and new leads to follow.

Ted didn’t run away often. He was still the Blue Beetle, and twice as brave as your average nerd. But there were times where even the Blue Beetle needed a break. Times where even the Blue Beetle wanted to give in to sadness and nostalgia.

So Ted took refuge in the one place where people accepted him to be sad. At his best friend’s bed side.

Security had doubled ever since Black Canary had been kidnapped, but with Ted inside, the guards had allowed him a bit of privacy. Michael had a nice room, with wide open windows that let a warm light float through the sky blue curtains. It was a bit empty, save for his bedside table covered in flowers and get-well cards. There was even one particular obnoxiously pink teddy bear there, and Ted was tempted to open the sealed envelope that came with, but he wasn’t in the mood for mischief.

Instead, Ted took a seat on the plastic chair at the other side of the room, closer to the window than to Michael. It was strange being in the same room as the blond without sharing a laugh, but with Michael looking so dead, Ted couldn’t even bring himself to crack a smile. He needed silence to focus, and as always, Michael was there to help.

Ted plopped his headphones on his head, and played the track again. Vic and Babs hadn’t cracked it, but maybe the calm could give him insight neither of them had gotten yet.

He closed his eyes, listening to the words again and again. They didn’t make any sense. He listened to it so many times he could practically recite the tape, intonations and all.

A shadow suddenly fell on the room, and startled Ted into looking up. A shape was covering the light from the window. 

The fabric of her clothes settled down, wide cape falling like red curtains around her body, and blond curls settling calmly on her shoulders. She was always a sight to behold, just like her cousin. There was something about them, with their crest on their chests and their eyes too blue to be human, that called for admiration. Ted hadn’t seen her in a while, and he almost hadn’t recognised her, but there was no forgetting Supergirl.

“Blue Beetle?” She asked.

Ted realised she had never seen him out of costume before.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “I didn’t know you were back.”

Unlike her cousin, Supergirl had never made Earth her home. She spent most of her times in other galactic systems, returning only to visit her cousin. Her english wasn’t perfect, and she didn't care more for the inhabitants of this planets than any other, but she was still a hero like them, and she had risked her life more than enough times for humans to be welcome back.

She was a brave, powerful young woman.

“I heard of the JSA,” she said with sympathy, motioning to the flowers in her hand, “Green Lantern told me. I want to lend respect to Booster Gold. I saw the other’s tombs.”

Ted smiled, “Thank you. It means a lot. You can put the flowers there,” he told her, showing the bedside table.

Supergirl did so, and paused.

“What are you listening?” She asked curiously.

Super-hearing. Of course.

“It's a conversation between two people suspected of helping with the massacre,” Ted replied, “but they were speaking in code, and no one understands it.”

“Recognise the voice,” Supergirl pointed out, “Red Speedy?”

“And Leviathan,” Ted confirmed, “Young Justice confronted them but Speedy broke out in a strange dialect that no one else understood. We think Leviathan might have.”

“It sounds like Kryptonian,” Supergirl told him, “but the words are imperfect.”

Ted snapped to attention. Kryptonian? They hadn’t considered that language. But if Supergirl was right, then maybe there was a chance at cracking this!

“How familiar is it?” Ted asked her, standing from his chair.

“I hear parts of kryptonian words, but they are incomplete,” Kara replied, focusing on the recording, “and there are strange… uhm… short parts of words?”

“Suffixes?”

“No.”

“Syllables?”

“Yes!”

This was good. This was a lead. If they knew which language the words were based on, it made decryption easier. With a bit of luck, they used the same grammar.

“Who knows how to speak Kryptonian?” Ted asked her.

“Me, and Superman,” Supergirl told her, “Zod? But he is in Oa.”

“What about Superboy?”

“No,” Supergirl shook her head. The answer wasn’t surprising. Superman barely spent any time with the kid, and Supergirl wasn’t even on the right planet.

But that only left Superman. How else could Tim have learnt Kryptonian? Superman hadn’t reported any advance on his front of the investigation for quite a while either, which was surprising considering his mountain load of abilities. Could he…? If Superman was working with Wayne, things were going to go sour really quickly. Would they even be able to stop Superman if he went on rampage?

Then again, Superman was, well, Superman. He was the hero that every other hero aspired to be. He was all about freedom and helping others. Surely he wouldn’t…

Unless he was working with the Titans. He wasn’t against the League, but against their decision to execute Wayne. He had shown reluctance during their original meeting. Clearly the Titans didn’t know where Wayne was, but maybe Superman had a better idea. It was worth investigating at least.

It had been about a month since the massacre. Tim was smart, could he have picked up the language so quickly? The alternative was scary to think about. Because if they had been planning something like that for longer… 

Superman, of all heroes to go bad.

“Teach me basic Kryptonian, words that are extremely common,” Ted asked Supergirl, “please. We might be able to crack this the two of us.”

* * *

Dick wasn’t the computer expert of the family. Compared to the others, he had never really had the patience for learning that kind of things. Besides, they all had their area of expertise, and he was glad to leave all the screen work to Barbara, Bruce, or even Tim. However, Bruce was nothing if not a spartan teacher, and he had insisted on his students having approximate knowledge on pretty much everything. So Dick had some knowledge of computers, enough to recognise the brilliance behind a piece of code or know if a computer had been meddled with.

Which is why he knew enough to be surprised that he knew everything.

Dick had snuck back into the Watchtower, with the help of Donna. The Titans seemed to have faith in him that he really was looking for the real traitor, mostly because Raven had vouched for him once more. Bruce would probably have an aneurism if he ever found our how Dick had earned their trust, but sometimes, being transparent was the best strategy.

He had reached the holding cell’s computers easily, and had begun looking through the terminal’s activity, only to find the inconsistency. Which was the strange part. Tim and Damian had believed it had been Oracle who had helped them, and Oracle was too good to leave behind any trace. And yet a single prompt in the command line was enough for the computer to detect her viruses and modifications. With a bit of luck, he’d even be able to trace back her ip address.

Okay, so not that lucky.

The viruses themselves were clearly efficient, which left Dick wondering what the hell was going on. There were two _very_ different levels of hacking involved in this, an expert, and a complete novice. An expert had hacked into the Watchtower auxiliary terminal, but a novice had hacked their way out. And then the expert had protected their whereabouts, without deleting the rest of their trace.

It was rushed. The expert had been interrupted, and then rushed. They had backed out from helping.

Oracle had been contacting them using cards. Maybe it was because Oracle wasn't that good with computers.

But where did this leave Barbara?

Dick remembered the message Misfit had brought him. Oracle obviously knew about their world. Dick was inclined to believe that Oracle also knew who was the first face to come to mind when Oracle referred to themselves. But how could anyone ask them _not_ to trust Barbara? They relied on her for practically anything. She had earned Bruce’s unconditional trust, and that was something not even the current Robin and Batgirl had. The suspicious one in this story was Oracle, with their anonymous cards and hijacked identity.

Besides, that left very little suspects for Oracle. Who knew that Oracle was Barbara? The Birds of Prey, the Family, Spy-Smasher maybe, the core Justice Leaguers… No. Not even. Barbara’s recent stunt had a lot of them believe she was dead.

The message was clear enough if Barbara wasn’t their Barbara, but who else could be Oracle?

No — that _still_ didn’t make sense. Whoever they were up against knew about them. If Barbara couldn’t be trusted, and was on the enemy side, then how did they get their information without Barbara being brought to this world as well? She was the only one who could have predicted Misfit and Huntresses actions with such accuracy. Who would have thought of placing Dinah there to unsettle them.

Argh!

“Everything alright?” Donna asked with a raised eyebrow. She was at the door, on lookout duty.

“No,” Dick grimaced, “this world was created for the sole purpose of messing with me, I know it. It has plans to make me bald through the tearing of my own hair, so it can finally be the most beautiful woman in the universe.”

“That seems a tad dramatic,” Donna smiled.

“What can I say?” Dick mourned, “My good looks are a curse.”

“I'm sure,” Donna rolled her eyes fondly, “a real tragedy.”

“Finally, someone who understands,” Dick replied with exaggerated relief.

Donna snorted. “So, have you found anything other than an evil step-mother conspiracy?” 

“Not much,” Nightwing admitted, “Someone might be helping us, or again, they might be trying to trick us. One of my friends might an enemy. One of your friends might an enemy. Depends which they are. It might be neither, to be honest. There is a lot happening that we don’t know about. I’m _really_ confused.”

“Maybe,” Donna suggested pointedly, “if you could tell us more about what you know…”

Dick sent her an apologetic look.

“That’s not up to me,” he told her with sympathy.

“At least let us help more, then,” Donna insisted, “this traitor affects us more than it affects you.”

“I can’t,” Dick sigh, “the more we are, the more likely the traitor will notice we’re on their trail. And in my experience, working a delicate job like this with people you’re not used to working with is a bad idea. You don’t know me enough, and I —“ don’t know this version of you. Can’t stand the idea of working with a you that doesn’t trust me. Don’t want secrets to weigh me down. Have orders from Bruce not to join up with you. “— can’t fully trust you either. Not until we know who the traitor is.”

Donna let out a frustrated groan. “Fine,” she gave up, “so what now?”

Dick scratched his head. Good question.

He needed a lead, any lead, but he wasn’t receiving a single one. With all the teams on their own investigations, Dick thought they’d at least have an update now, but Misfit hadn’t brought him anything more than the card.

Tim hadn’t been kidding when he’d said Dick was going in blind.

It was times like these where Dick wished he had Damian with him, or anyone really. He knew Bruce had good reasons for sending him alone, but still. Having someone around kept him on his toes, it’s what made him Batman instead of Nightwing, and with all the mysteries going on, Dick could really use some Batman.

Plus, it was a bit lonely.

Okay, _very_ lonely.

Their means of communication, summoning Misfit through a set of distress buttons she had stolen from STAR labs and then using her to communicate, left absolutely no room for casual chats. Even when he worked alone, Nightwing was often chatting with Barbara or with whoever was his temporary partner in crime-fighting. But Bruce had wanted to minimise the chance of them being tracked, and thus communication devices had been banned.

And talking to the Titans? It was fun at first, but it was quickly getting frustrating. He was tempted to blurt out inside jokes and terrible puns, but they didn’t know him enough to appreciate these. He had to keep up the mysterious Nightwing aesthetic, and it sucked not to be able to just be himself.

Sigh. At this stage, he’d even take a new order from Bruce, if it meant feeling like he was still working in a group.

“I have to go check on some people who could have an idea,” Dick finally decided. People like the commissioner, Barbara’s mother or perhaps her brother. He could also search the Blue Beetle’s apartment. They were basic leads, but he had to start somewhere.

Donna shrugged, and helped him out of the Watchtower. She used her teleporter access to get him to Gotham, wishing him good luck on his investigation. She didn’t pursue prying into the mystery, but that was because she had gotten another urgent call from Wonder Woman. Apparently Black Canary had been rescued, and she was out for Bruce’s blood in revenge. Clearly Bruce had finally figured out a way to use Cassandra’s status.

Now he was just curious.

_Focus on your mission_ , Bruce’s voice told him, just like in his Robin days. Did the others also have an inner-Bruce that popped up like some kind of Pavlov reflex when they got distracted?

Dick shuddered at the thought of how it must be inside Bruce’s head.

_Focus_.

Child conditioning was a scary thing.

It was hard to focus though, when Dick felt completely out of his depth. Ever since he’d left the circus in this world, and had gotten involved in this intrigue, Dick only found himself more and more confused. He had wasted his first weeks indulging in a fantasy, and now he felt like he had been left behind in terms of information. He knew least about how the hero community worked in this world, and he had been as far away from all the backstabbing as it was possible, so he knew nothing on that front as well.

It really didn’t help that Bruce had gone full Batman again.

Dick wasn’t being kept up to date, and he knew it, especially now that Cassandra had shown up like this. Bruce must have thought that if it wasn’t useful to his mission, then it wasn’t necessary to tell him. And that if it wasn’t necessary, than it could only be a burden. It wasn’t true though, because now Dick worried. He always worried about the others. But that was something Bruce had a hard time understanding, and something Dick had to accept of the man. No one was perfect, Batman least of all.

Dick made his way towards the GCPD. James Gordon wasn’t the commissioner in this world, but hopefully he’d been a cop at one point or another, and he had a file somewhere in archives, or in records if he still was.

He briefly wondered what the others were doing, and if they were just as lost as he was.

* * *

“So here’s the thing,” Tim resumed, “Zach, Black Alice, and Traci 13 all shared a premonition dream about the balance of the world being broken, and decided to do something about it, because why the fuck not. Since the dream was all about metaphors, it was really vague and they didn’t know what to prepare for, so, naturally, they decided to summon a fucking _god_ , Barbatros — who is an actual real god in this world because things weren’t confusing enough, to shield the world from this event. Barbatros actually answered, and told them that the event could not be stopped. However, balance could be restored, and he’d send twenty knights to do so, so Zach and the others could just stop worrying about it, chill—“

“Well, he didn’t say it like that, but —” Zach piped in.

“— and leave it to _us_ instead. So now we can’t go home until we ‘restore balance to the world’ and take down firelord Ozai and destroy a few dozen horcruxes. The usual.”

“ _Mmh_ ,” Bruce replied thoughtfully from the other end of the comm Misfit had brought them. It was set to speaker.

They were at the Kents’ farm, with the current members of Young Justice and Connor. Damian had joined Tim out of hiding, but Cass was still hidden close by. Misfit, still dressed as Catgirl, had popped in upon receiving Tim’s signal. The eight youngsters were all holed up in the barn.

It was dark inside, and they were all sitting on scattered hay which pricked their butts, but it had been the only place they could think of where no one would expect them to be. So there they were, sitting in a circle around the small device. It felt like a sleepover, or maybe a ritual sacrifice. The two were eerily similar.

“We think the disturbance in the balance may be due to Zatanna’s… death,” Zach added, “she was policing the power dynamics in the magical community, and now —”

“ _You know best_ ,” Bruce cut in from the other end, “ _save it for Red Robin, he and Robin will look into this with you_.”

Everyone was fairly startled by his quick dismissal, even Tim. However, Tim knew Bruce too well to stay flabbergast, and quickly regained his bearings. He could recognise that disinterested tone, and his thoughtful hum. Bruce had put something together from Tim’s explanation; he’d figured out a puzzle the younger heroes hadn’t even realised was there. But what was it? Tim’s eyes narrowed. Bruce seemed to have a good reason to think Zach’s assumption was wrong. The balance wasn’t disrupted by Zatanna. He'd have wanted to know more otherwise. But why send him and Damian down this road still? Surely if they wanted to go home quickly, they should focus all their numbers where it mattered.

“What about the traitor?” Damian asked, “Our original mission is still a high priority.”

“ _Someone else can work on that_ ,” Bruce replied, “ _Black Bat?_ ”

“Black Bat?” Bart repeated, “Who’s—“

The doors of the barn slammed opened.

“AAAAAAAAA—!”

A body was suddenly hauled into the barn, tied from head to toes by a water hose. Cass walked up next to her catch coolly.

“ _Oof_!” The body landed.

“Yes?”

“BC?” Kon gaped, “Holy shit, how long has she been following us?”

“ _Roy_?” Connor recognised the body, running up to it to untie him.

The body was indeed Roy Harper, trying to wriggle himself free. He looked a mix of sheepish and annoyed.

“Spy,” Cass explained.

“ _Tell everyone Arsenal has rescued you,_ ” Bruce instructed, oblivious of the general confusion, “ _his Checkmate training should make him competent enough to come up with a decent cover. Join the Titans and lead them to investigate the traitor within the community_.”

“You speak as if you’ve planned I’d be here,” Roy grimaced as he rubbed his sore wrists before joining the circle reluctantly. Cass remained by the doors.

“ _You're Checkmate, you consider Red Robin and Green Arrow your brothers, and you have an affinity with technology_ ,” Bruce explained, “ _you know YJ knows something about Tim, and you’ve already been proven to use tracking technology without consent of the tracked party. Of course you would have tagged Green Arrow and followed him to this meeting. It’s what any careful agent would do. And probably part of the reason you agreed to help. In fact, it is hard to believe you would have allowed Tim and Damian to escape out of pure trust. You wanted them to lead you to me. It’s simple behavioural analysis_.”

“Do you know what I had for breakfast as well?” Roy hissed.

“ _Ketchup and cereal bars,_ ” Bruce replied without missing beat. Roy paled.

“I am _officially_ creeped out,” Cassie pointed out, staring blankly at the comm.

Tim shrugged, “You get used to it.”

“The behavioural analysis?”

“Being creeped out.”

Of course, Bruce hadn’t actually deduced Roy’s breakfast. Dick had unfortunately been around Roy a bit too much during his teenage years, and some strange breakfast habits had moved from one vigilante to the other. Tim still remembered crashing at Dick’s once and getting a Roy special in the morning. He briefly wondered if this was Bruce’s revenge for making his son so weird. Bruce could be so petty sometimes.

Well, Tim wasn’t going to tell them that.

“Cassie thinks the traitor is Gorgon,” Connor reported, “sh — er, they, have information about Tim and Talia Al Ghul’s confrontation that they shouldn’t have.”

“ _I know Gorgon is Barbara Gordon-Kord,_ ” Bruce told him, “ _start your investigation with her, Black Bat_.”

“Batgirl and Black Bat were brought here,” Tim pointed out, “as were all the former Robins. Even Huntress and Misfit made the cut. There’s _no way_ Babs isn’t eventually coming, if she hasn’t already.”

“Barbara is one of you guys too?” Bart blinked.

“ _So keep an open mind,_ ” Bruce instructed, “ _but remember that there is someone from our world working against us. Misfit, the message Harper found?_ ”

“Right,” Charlie nodded, “there was a green card on the Batcave wall from Oracle that said, ‘Don't trust ‘me’.’ It’s a bit strange, but Nightwing said it makes sense if Oracle isn’t Barbara.”

They allowed a small silence for the present heroes to mull it over.

“So we have to decide if we trust Gordon or Oracle more,” Damian resumed with a click of his tongue.

“Barbara wouldn’t betray us,” Cass spoke up with conviction. She was always the loyal one.

“That’s what I thought too,” Cassie muttered in a quiet, bitter voice.

A small silence settled down. Cassie’s words rang true. There wasn’t a hero the Bats were suspecting of being a traitor that the rest of the community wouldn’t have trusted with their lives. That was what a traitor was. It was someone you trusted unconditionally, and that you shouldn’t have.

By the lack of comments from the other side, Tim could tell neither Steph nor Jason were present. Bruce was already compartmentalising the jobs. Not one team knew what the others were up to. No possible traitor was privy to all the information, save for Bruce and Misfit. No, not even Misfit knew. She was a messenger, but she didn’t stay long enough with any one group to truly keep up with everything, save for locations.

“Why is Wayne dishing out orders?” Roy eventually asked, peeved, “And is no one worried about how much he knows?”

“We’ll catch you up later,” Kon sighed, “but they’re actually the good guys. From another universe. Technically we’re the ones who messed up. Well, Zach is.”

“Hey!"

Roy squinted his eyes in disbelief.

“Cass and the Titans should get a communication device to coordinate with Nightwing,” Tim suggested, “their investigations are bound to overlap.”

There was a small pause on Bruce’s end.

“ _You’re right_ ,” he finally said, “ _but this won’t work out. I’m changing your mission assignment, Black Bat. You and the Titans should try to find others like us, under the guise of hunting me down. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Robin, Batgirl, Black Bat, Azrael, Man-Bat, Huntress, Misfit, and myself. That’s eleven of us. There are still nine out there. Get in contact with me whenever you find one_. _Do not pursue Oracle yet, let Nightwing find out more first._ ”

Tim frowned. He had already noticed the inconsistency in Bruce’s plan initially, but now it was glaring obvious. Bruce was isolating Dick.

“What about the traitor then?” Tim challenged Bruce.

“ _I know who to send_ ,” Bruce replied without further detail, “ _the two of you will need disguises to work with Young Justice. I understand a few members are currently taking a break from the team, and I trust Zatara can procure illusion charms_.”

“It'll take a few hours, but it should work,” Zach confirmed.

Tim nodded, “I can pass as Jaime.”

“ _This will leave Secret as a cover for Batgirl if you need backup_ , _as Red Devil is still explicitly refusing to associate with any hero_ ,” Bruce agreed.

Damian seemed to do the math in his head pretty quickly, because he immediately scowled “No. I refuse.”

“ _Robin_ ,” Bruce chided.

Bart stifled a laugh. Tim had to physically hold Damian back from attacking the speedster.

“Too hard?” Cass goaded him with an amused smile.

“Nothing is too hard for me,” Damian hissed, “I am the son of Batman and the heir of the Al Ghuls! I outmatch any of you peasants in skill and—“

“Well then, that’s settled,” Cassie concluded vindictively, clearly not feeling much love for Damian, “welcome back to Young Justice, _Impulse_.”

* * *

“Ted, honey?” Barbara asked Ted as he came home looking a bit annoyed, “Are you alright?”

“The code,” Ted growled, “the one I’ve been trying to decode for days.”

“No progress?” Barbara sighed sympathetically as she rolled over to the kitchen where Ted was heading. She had almost told him she knew the code out of pity, but she knew better than to reveal information like that. Where on Earth would Barbara have learnt Kryptonian in this world?

“I cracked it,” Ted revealed, getting a beer in the fridge, and pouring Barbara a glass of water.

Barbara didn’t have to fake surprise. He didn’t look very happy for someone who had just cracked a supposedly uncrackable code.

“You did?”

“Yes,” Ted gritted out, “it’s just, after having spent so long on it, I expected a really complex thing, you know? Because I’m supposed to be smart and all. I had numerical charts and whole programs dedicated to it. Turns out Tim, the little troll, just pig-latined Kryptonian. Who does that?”

Barbara shrugged. That was what happened when Tim and Superboy were left alone for too long. Ted didn’t know what they had done with Ancient Greek to piss Wonder Girl off, and perhaps it was  best left unsaid.

“So what does it say?” She asked instead.

“It roughly translates to: Change of plans,” Ted replied, reading it off a crumpled note, “We keep the lie. I can explain my actions through the circumstances, but this one is my fault. The true traitor is blaming me, so they’ll find more fake evidence when they look more. If they find out the truth now, they’ll think we’re enemies. They will think that the massacre is our idea, not the other Bruce’s.”

Barbara was impressed. The translation was greatly accurate for someone who didn’t speak a word of Kryptonian.

“Supergirl helped me,” Ted told her, “but now I have so many questions. When Tim talks about a true traitor, does he mean a traitor on Wayne’s side or ours? Is he being framed by one of our allies or his? What other Bruce is there? Is there a chance Tim is actually innocent? And in that case, then who’s the real traitor? And why would Tim act so… _fishy_? Nothing makes sense.”

“Ted…” Barbara tried to soothe him, but it was pointless. She couldn’t bring herself to reassure him. To tell him the truth would come out eventually. Ted was the last person who should have cracked this clue. This world wasn’t kind to him, and if he ever found out the truth… He didn’t deserve it. Ted Kord was one of the most brilliant person on Earth, in both world. In both ways. He was creative, inventive, and he was often a light in the community, with his good humour and kind heart. But fate had killed him back home, and it threatened to break his heart in this one - if it didn't repeat his more morbid end.

It wasn’t fair.

And Ted wasn’t even her biggest worry right now.

“You mentioned Kryptonian,” Barbara pointed out, “could Superman have anything to do with this?”

“I considered that,” Ted admitted.

There was no way Bruce had gone to Clark for help. Dick, on the other hand… He had convinced the Titans, he could have convinced Clark as well. There were old friends too, back in their world. And if Clark was helping them, then that gave them the protection of the Fortress, and his reputation. If the Justice League was to find out about that alliance, then Bruce would be cornered.

The code may have been simple, but it had still taken Ted longer than any other code to crack. Tim had known what he was doing. He had taken advantage of the distance between the Supers and the rest of the community. That was good; the others needed to be on their best games if they were to survive what was coming. They had no idea who they were up against and —

“Superman _has_ been suspiciously silent these days,” Barbara added, “and his Fortress does have the medical facilities Wayne needed after his escape. We checked every hospital, every doctor known but we didn’t even consider him. This fits. Superman could be hiding Wayne.”

Barbara clenched her fists. She hated this. She hated not being able to help them, not even a little bit.

Barbara Gordon’s hands were tied. Everything relied on _her_ now.

…

They were so, potentially, screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Dick fucks up, Cass fucks up, Bruce and Jason have an emotional breakthrough.


	19. Curiosity killed the Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parenting is, like, hard. Bruce regrets. But it's too late. He's in deep now.  
> Meanwhile, Dick is being worryingly reckless, and Cass has never failed a job so badly.

Jason had found refuge in Superman’s library. It wasn’t a library per se, as it lacked books, chairs, and tables, but the Man of Steel had assured him it served the same purpose, and Jason found no reason to believe otherwise. It was a small circular dome with a sphere floating in the middle, as if it wanted to make a point of this being an _alien_ fortress. The sphere, a data bank, let out a ghostly hum.

Good. He had never liked complete silence.

The young man was sitting cross legged against the curved metal wall, book in hand. He was quickly running out of biographies and History books to read. At this rate, he was going to start reading Clark’s works from when he still worked at the Planet, and he had probably already read those at home.

Bruce found him there.

“Jason,” he greeted, “can we talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re already doing?” Jason replied, still reading his book.

The comment frustrated Bruce, but the man didn’t let it show. _Like talking to a wall_ , Jason remembered. What had he expected, really?

“I need to know where you stand,” Bruce declared, towering over Jason, “if I give you a job, will you do it exactly as I ask you?”

“I’m not your fucking pawn,” Jason hissed, “we work as equals, or not at all.”

“I’m just asking you to trust me—“

“Like _you_ trust _me_?” Jason scoffed.

“Jason —“

“No, not ‘ _Jason_ ’!” Jason seethed, “You once slit my throat to save the Joker, Bruce! If anyone has to prove they’re trustworthy, it’s you.”

“You were _killing_ people, Jason,” Bruce reminded him gruffly, finally getting worked up.

“And I will do so again,” Jason scowled, “we _both_ now that. Let’s not pretend that the second we’re home, we’re not going to stab each other in the back.”

“We’ll never go home if we don’t work together,” Bruce told him sternly.

“Did you forget about all your other little cult followers?” Jason challenged, “You don’t need me. You’ve replaced me a long time ago.”

“You’re acting like a child!” Bruce growled impatiently.

“No, I’m being what people call _human_ ,” Jason retorted, “something you’ve forgotten to be.”

“You’re letting your emotions get the better of you, that’s what you are,” Bruce scowled back, “I trained you better than—“

“Don’t you fucking dare go there!” Jason snapped, springing up suddenly, finger pointed accusingly at Bruce. The older man didn’t move. “You have no right!”

“Jason—“

“Get out. Now.”

“Jay—“

“ _OUT!_ ”

Bruce stood his ground for a few painful seconds, during which they glared at each other in a match of anger. Finally, Bruce gave up on Jason, and walked away without a word or an apology.

Jason listened to his own breath, and held back a yell in his throat. He wanted to trash something badly, but there was nothing around to trash. He needed to let it out somehow, all that anger. Maybe find someone—

Oh God. Had he snapped? Again? Bruce was being a jerk, but he hadn’t even _tried_ listening to him.

Jason let himself slide along the wall, his head in his hands. He was supposed to be better than this. He had promised Cass damn it.

* * *

_‘Oh my god what is wrong with you.’ -O_

Dick tore the green note from under the fridge, and pocketed it with the others. It wasn’t the first note from ‘Oracle’ of this kind he’d encountered, and he was practically ignoring them all now. He had started his investigation at the GCPD headquarters, hoping to find clues of Jim Gordon’s whereabouts since he couldn’t seem to find Barbara directly. There was no record of the Commissioner there, but a green note had been left for him in this world’s Commissioner’s office.

_‘Don’t investigate this way further. Dead end.’ -O_

Of course, after years of being a detective, Dick knew that when someone didn’t want him sniffing somewhere, it meant that there was something to sniff. Naturally, Dick continued looking for Jim Gordon, finally finding his address in the Gotham Main Hospital’s archives. He had broken an arm three years before.

At Gordon’s house, another green note was waiting for him.

_‘Not yet. Turn back. If you follow this trail now you will all be in danger.’ -O_

He was getting closer to Oracle. Was she really Barbara after all?

_‘You don’t understand. You’re putting everything on jeopardy.’ -O_

Said the note at Barbara Gordon sr’s house.

_‘They will kill you.’ -O_

Gotham Academy.

_‘Jesus, kid. Please. I’m not your enemy.’ -O_

Gotham University.

He was getting close now. He could tell. ‘Oracle’ was getting impatient.

Kord Industries had contacted Gotham U about Barbara’s thesis. He knew from Tim that Barbara was married to Ted Kord, but finding where they lived was quite a challenge. They both outmatched him when it came to technology, and there was no doubt they had gone through great length to protect their whereabouts.

But Dick knew Barbara, and he knew Ted to some extent.

He also knew James Gordon Jr, and Gotham U had his address stored away. James was a complete psychopath, but he was undoubtfully smarter than he let on, and obsessed with manipulating people, especially the ones around him. Dick didn’t like the little rat much, especially not after he had stabbed Barbara’s legs, but in this world, James had no criminal record, and he was also Dick’s only chance at finding Barbara.

Which is why he was at the brat’s house, tearing green notes from his fridge.

Dick quickly found James’s computer. He disabled all the cameras James had left around his flat, the paranoid little rat, and replaced their recordings of the past few minutes so Nightwing’s existence was wiped. Next to it, there were a few binders.

Without restraint, Dick flipped through them. James was keeping track of many people in Gotham, and not just anyone. Edward Nygma. Harleen Quinzel. Jervis Tetch. Luke Fox. Jonathan Crane. Duke Thomas.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. There were countless of other names, some of which Dick knew personally, others he had put behind bars, and others he had yet to even hear about. In this world, they were all still normal citizens of Gotham.

James had a list of people with potential. The information inside told Dick that the young man had no idea what they had achieved in his universe, but he had noticed that they were all exceptional. He was gathering blackmail material for all of them. It was smart. Scary. But it was also just like James Gordon Jr.

And if he had blackmail material on all of them, then there was no doubt he had a file for his sister.

 _Bingo_.

In hindsight, maybe he should have listened to ‘Oracle’.

Dick made it into the bunker penthouse of Kord Industries, without tripping an alarm. The system was frightfully similar to the Clocktower’s, but it was much less complete.

Wait. No.

Someone had disabled a few alarms.

Someone was inviting him in.

Man, were they even trying? This literally screamed ‘TRAP’. 

Dick analysed the dust pattern on the lock, and quickly found the correct code. He went in. Jumping without a net had always been his thing. Let the trap try.

Dick slid inside. 

It was dark. The night was spreading its shadows, and no light inside was on. It didn’t trouble Dick much, though. He had grown used to the dark. 

The Kords’ apartment was spotless. It looked nothing like Barbara’s usual hideouts, nor Ted’s. These were messy, full of cables and screens and half finished gadgets. But this, this was a real apartment. One meant to live in, not to work in. It was child friendly, the kind of home you invited your parents to. Modern, but not without humorous touches.

So that’s what being a functional adult looked like. Bruce and his man-cave was a bit off.

Dick grabbed the hand coming from behind him and swept its owner’s feet off the floor with a backward kick. He swiftly placated the figure with a foot on its chest.

“Who—“ Dick started.

“Shhhh!” The figure urged, a finger on its lips. 

“Blue Beetle?” Dick whispered, confused.

It was Blue Beetle. In his Beetle suit. Sneaking around his own house. He made no move to fight back. Slowly, Dick removed his foot. He knew he could take on Ted in a fight. It wasn’t arrogance, there was simply no contest between them in hand to hand. Dick offered a hand to help him up.

“Thanks,” Ted whispered back, “you’re that Nightwing kid.”

“You were going to cover my mouth,” Dick deduced, “why are we whispering?”

“She doesn’t know we’re here,” Ted answered, “I shut down the motion sensor alarms and put the cameras on loop.”

“She?”

“We don’t have much time,” Ted urged, “Do you have any of those green notes with you?”

“Wha— How do you—?”

“Oracle warned me you might come tonight a few minutes ago,” Ted whispered, stretching his hand out for Dick to give him the notes, “trust Oracle next time.”

Without thinking Dick handed the papers. He had long memorised them.

“We can’t let anyone know about Oracle.” Ted immediately took out a lighter, and burnt them.

“Wait—“ Dick tried to stop him, but it was too late.

The fire alarm went off.

Ted facepalmed. “Fuck. I can’t believe I just did that.”

A familiar wheel squeaked over the alarm, and both Dick and Ted turned to see Barbara wheeling herself in the living room, where Ted had tried to ambush Dick. She looked radiant, as always. Even with her simple green shirt, and basic jeans. Even with a cast on her foot.

Ted sighed, took out his phone, and shut the alarm off.

“Ted? I thought you were out with Ollie tonight,” Barbara frowned, before laying her eyes on Dick.

A spark of surprise broke through Barbara’s carefully controlled cool expression, along with a hint of genuine fear. Dick wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t known her so well.

“Oh no,” she softly told him, “you _really_ shouldn’t have come here _tonight_ , Nightwing.”

Except Dick wasn’t listening. He was preoccupied.

By that _thing_.

That thing on her stomach.

It was so… big.

And like, round.

“Barbara,” Ted greeted coldly.

Barbara eyes his costume, and sighed. “You know.”

“That you’ve been working with Lex fucking Luthor this whole time?” Ted scowled, “Yeah. I know.”

Dick had never seen Ted Kord angry like that. But he knew that anger. It was the same anger Booster Gold had worn on his sleeve after Ted’s death. The one he reserved only for one man, the man who he’d considered one of his closest friends, and who had betrayed him in the worst of ways.

Barbara hadn’t betrayed him. She had destroyed him. She had forced herself into his heart until she occupied most of it, and then ripped herself out, leaving the gap fresh and bleeding.

“How long?” Barbara asked. She wasn’t on guard like them, in her wheelchair, but she was avoiding his gaze. It wasn’t like her.

“Three days,” Ted replied.

“When you cracked the code,” Barbara deduced.

“You didn’t even question what Tim had said in there,” Ted reminded her, “and then I remembered what you said when you first sent us on Tim’s trail. _We have to consider the possibilities_ , you said. And I did. And I found my blind spot. If Tim’s words are true and he is being framed, then you’re the main suspect, Barbara. You’re the one who kept pushing us to investigate him. But we’ve all been turning a blind eye to you because… It’s you Barbara. I’ve been doing some digging since. You’re not just Gorgon. You go by the Calculator as well. Heh. You’ve been playing your own nemesis all this time. _You’re_ the traitor.”

“Ted…” Barbara replied, sounding like she was pleading. She cared for him, but she was holding back.

“Damn it, Babs!” Ted snapped, “Was _any_ of it real?”

“I —“ Barbara started, before biting her cheek. She closed her eyes, a clear admission that this was not a question she could answer both truthfully and gently. She was hurting too, but Ted was too blinded by his own pain to see it, and Dick couldn’t blame him.

“I didn’t want you to figure out the code,” she confessed softly.

“You should have known I would eventually,” Ted seethed.

“I did,” Barbara admitted, “but you don’t deserve this. And you, Nightwing… you… Nightwing? Nightwing! Eyes up here, Dick!”

Dick snapped to attention, “Yes Barbelly, I mean, Babybarb — I mean, Barbabump — I mean —“

“Oh my God,” Barbara groaned, “I don’t know why I even tried.”

“I’m sorry but,” Dick pointed at her stomach, “is that _real_?”

“Baby bumps aren’t boobs, Dick,” Barbara deadpanned, “people don’t generally have fake ones.”

“But how—?”

“Do you want me to go through the birds and the bees with you?” 

“I thought you guys only _cyber_ did it!” Dick defended himself.

“I will _kill_ Dinah and Helena when we get back,” Barbara muttered to herself, “Nightwing, I need you to focus. Look at my arm.”

Dick obliged, and noticed a black band around her bicep, partially hidden by the sleeve of her shirt. The wires connected to a box under her wheelchair, which were connected to the smart phone in her hand. The screen showed a succession of lines, spiking up and down.

A polygraph.

Dick could fool polygraphs. He suspected Jason could. Tim had become the master of lying. Damian’s training was so thorough Dick would be more shocked if he couldn’t. And Bruce could do it in his sleep. But Batgirl had never been a full time student of Bruce, and Dick knew that fooling a polygraph was just one of those skills that didn’t overlap with her. Judging by the current readings, the polygraph was authentic.

“I’m being blackmailed,” she said simply, “I’m fighting you all for real. I’m your enemy. And I’m _seriously_ trying to take you down.”

She wasn’t lying. Dick’s heart fell. Oracle was a considerable opponent. If anyone could outthink Batman, it was her.

“I can’t lie to him,” Barbara continued, “and I can’t _move_.”

The baby. Barbara could fight in a wheelchair, but with a baby bump that huge, she was practically paralysed from head to toes.

“You’re staring again,” Barbara told him, impatiently.

“I don’t understand,” Ted frowned, “I’ve broken into some of your chats. You’re not being blackmailed, you’re-“

“Oh poor, poor Ted.”

Dick and Ted both startled at the new voice. Barbara didn’t flinch, and kept eye contact with Dick. She had known he was there all along.

Lex Luthor strolled out from the same room Barbara had wheeled from. He looked exactly like he did back in their world. Bald. In a suit. And smug.

“Luthor,” Dick growled.

Luthor paid him no attention.

“Here you thought you had it all figured out,” Luthor grinned, “and yet you’re still missing the biggest part of the puzzle. Why is Drake working with Wayne? Who is this Nightwing? So many questions! I’ve had your beautiful wife answer them for me, but I’m afraid you’ve been left in the dark.”

Luthor played with Barbara’s hair as he taunted Ted, and Dick could see how uncomfortable she was. She was feeling powerless, and angry. And the last time that had happened, Barbara had gone off grid and become Oracle.

“We didn’t think you’d be here,” Barbara told Ted, “or you, for that matter,” she then added for Dick.

“Barbara, dear,” Luthor smirked, “take care of _Grayson_ , will you?”

Dick didn’t even see it coming. In a blink, Barbara’s hand was outstretched, and there was a dart in his chest. Without his usual armour, it had gone straight in. He felt his limbs numb, and his mind fuzz slightly.

He fell to the ground kneeling, grappling with his consciousness. Barbara could have aimed slightly sideways, and the poison would have taken more slowly to act. But she hadn’t. She had gone for the heart.

“Why tell him, if you’re coming at them seriously?” Ted challenged her.

“I told her she could, because there’s no way you’re making it out of here alive,” Luthor smiled, taking out a gun from his jacket.

Barbara’s eyes widened, “ _DON’T!_ ” She screamed.

**Bang!**

Dick watched horrified as Ted’s body hit the ground, blood covering his head.

 **Thud**.

Barbara’s face was frozen as she grasped for air, eyes stuck on Ted. Angrily, she turned to Luthor, and with as much loathing as she was capable of summoning, she said: “You fucking monster I swear I will —“

“What?” Luthor cut in cooly, warning evident in his voice. Whatever the warning was for, it was enough to placate Barbara. With tears in her eyes and teeth mashed so strongly together Dick almost expected them to shatter, she lowered her head.

This Luthor was playing a dangerous game. Their Luthor would never anger Oracle like this.

The apartment swayed again, and Dick was starting to have trouble staying awake. The sudden shot had only jolted him for a few seconds.

The gun was pointed at him.

“Don’t,” Barbara told Luthor, “don’t you dare.”

“You’re in no place to give me orders,” Luthor reminded her.

Dick closed his eyes, He couldn’t move.

**Bang!**

* * *

“It's all good,” Dr. Mid-nite concluded, turning away from his screen, “That bruise on your cheek will take a while to heal, but you’ll have no permanent damage.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra nodded, sitting on the border of the Watchtower’s medical bay’s bed. Behind her, Arsenal was silent. He wasn’t at ease around her, she knew. Even after having been briefed about their circumstances, Arsenal still had his doubts. He didn’t like the idea of Tim being anyone else but his brother, and watching Cassandra beat herself up without blinking to make everything more believable certainly hadn’t eased his trust. 

The young woman just had that effect on people. She made them uneasy. Still, Arsenal made no move to betray her. He was smarter than that.

Once the check up done and documented, she followed Arsenal to a meeting room, where the rest of the newly formed Titans were waiting. Troia, Cyborg, the White Flash, Starfire, and Arsenal. She didn’t know any of them that well back in their world.

“BC also thinks killing Wayne is against everything we stand for,” Arsenal opened with, his acting skills surprisingly convincing. The two of them stood in front of the screen, while the Titans had all taken seats at the small table.

The story that had spread was that Arsenal had helped Tim and Robin escape, to track them down. He had followed them all the way to a farm house in Kansas, where he had found Cassandra tied up in a water hose (left unsaid was that the later part of the sentence related to Roy, not Cassandra). After a brief skirmish, the two of them managed to escape.

There wasn’t a single lie, and it was brilliant. Not even mind readers could find a problem in his statement.

Cassandra added that she had mostly been unconscious, and that she had little ideas what Wayne was up to.

Which was true as well. Batman had dispensed work for everyone but himself; and Cassandra knew better to think that he believed acting as the command centre was enough. There was also something very strange in the mission assignments. She couldn’t, for the life of her, comprehend why he had chosen to send her on this mission. Her stint with the Outsiders had proved she wasn’t team material, and she didn’t have Nightwing’s way with people. It was already enough of a miracle the latter had convinced the Titans to go against the Justice League, Cassandra was more likely to undo all his work.

“But more importantly,” Arsenal continued, “she can confirm something that Nightwing said. Tim is not the traitor.”

The room suddenly became more focused.

“But —“ Cyborg frowned.

“He's working for Wayne,” Arsenal confirmed, “but he wasn’t the one to betray us.”

“He was framed,” Cassandra pitched in, “I heard them talk about it. They’re looking for the… the _culprit_ too.”

“Tim is guilty of working with Wayne, but someone’s taking advantage of that to throw us off their tail,” Arsenal fleshed out, “we need to focus our efforts on—“

The door slid open.

“Cass!”

A woman threw herself at her, and Cassandra withstood the hug without flinching. She could tell the woman had no nefarious intentions from her tone, and then from her open gestures.

“Oh my little Cass,” the woman sobbed, hugging her tighter. It was that same old woman who had come see her at the hospital. Apparently she was supposed to be her adoptive mother. How was Cass supposed to act then? Like with Batman?

Probably not. Batman didn’t hug and cry much.

“I'm sorry,” she apologised, “I know you’re my mother, but I still don’t…”

She let her words trail, not that she knew which ones to use. Abstract concepts were still difficult to spell out for her.

“It's okay,” the woman, Dinah Drake, reassured her, caressing her cheek gently, “you need time. I’m just glad you’re alright, my baby girl.”

Behind her, Wonder Woman smiled warmly. She addressed the Titans: “Sorry to interrupt the planning of your next civil protestation. We heard that Black Canary was found and…”

“You don’t need to explain, Diana,” Troia chuckled, “she's one of your closest friends. We can wait.”

Dinah Drake let go of Cassandra, and stepped aside to give Wonder Woman a direct line to her friend. The Amazon princess didn’t disappoint, and stepped up to hug her as well.

It was only too late that Cassandra noticed the resistance beneath the warm, sincere smile she was wearing. Diana Prince was an ambassador, a diplomat. She always looked ready to accommodate anyone, and it was easy to forget that she was just as aggressively protective of her kin as she was willing to converse with others. She was scary like that. So when Wonder Woman wanted to look friendly, she didn’t have to try. The Amazon had her arms wrapped around Cassandra by the time the Bat noticed the grim determination that was hidden in her gaze, and despite jerking out of the hold as quickly as she could, her wrist remained prisoner of Wonder Woman’s strong grip.

Cassandra was fairly confident of her odds against just about any human on Earth. But Wonder Woman was not human, and not even Cassandra could punch a storm into submission.

“Is Bruce Wayne sheltered by Superman at his Fortress?” Wonder Woman demanded, as everyone else in the room tried to adjust to the sudden change in pace.

“Yes,” Cassandra found herself answering against her will. The lasso was tied around her wrist, inside Wonder Woman’s palm.

“Are you loyal to Wayne?”

This could not be happening. She hadn’t even started her job, and she was already caught.

“Yes.”

“Shit,” the White Flash swore. Dinah Drake paled.

Wonder Woman closed her eyes, forcing her emotions down. This whole mess was taking its toll on her, especially if she was resorting to deceit to get information. She was becoming desperate to end it all, but the torches’ flames just wouldn’t go out.

“Gorgon was right,” Wonder Woman sighed into her comm, "on both accounts. Get Captain Marvel and Giovanni Zatara; we’re going there.”

Oh no. Cassandra had just endangered everyone. She had talked. They knew. She had to warn the others.

“Donna,” Wonder Woman addressed her sister, “take Cassandra and Roy to the holding bay. Put them in separate cells.”

A wave of protest ran through the room.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” Dinah Drake pleaded, looking to her daughter for confirmation.

“Roy too?” Donna frowned.

Arsenal glared at Cassandra. They both had too much experience to believe there was a way to talk themselves out of this. If Arsenal denied it, Wonder Woman would just interrogate him with the lasso.

‘They don’t deserve this,’ he mouthed to her.

But they couldn’t get the truth, not yet. At this stage, it could be used against the Bats too easily, and as Tim had pointed out before they had left, unexplained knowledge of their own world was what would make their culprit stand out from the others.

Instead, they could get advice.

Just as Wonder Woman was about to release Cassandra from her hold to let Donna take her, Cassandra placed her own free hand the Amazon’s grip, keeping the lasso around her wrist. She met her eyes.

“You are stronger and… and… and _wiser_ than him,” she said confidently, "You will always win the fight. He _knows_ this.”

Wonder Woman was startled, but she regained her bearings quickly.

“Then why does he fight still?” She asked.

“Evil will always exist and one day you will die at its hands too,” Cassandra reasoned, "You know this. Why do _you_ fight still?”

* * *

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took for Bruce to come back.

Even for normal people fifteen minutes was quite a short time to cool down after a fight. The silent period after an argument wasn’t exclusive to brooding vigilantes. It was human nature to give in to pride and stubbornness during a heated conflict. No one liked admitting their wrong. No one liked conceding the win.

Bruce least of all.

Bruce was the first to give up on relationships out of ego. He wasn’t the type to cross the bridge, to reach out. He let others come back to him if they so chose to. Jason couldn’t tell if it was because Bruce was too proud to be the bigger man, because he feared facing those he’d wronged, or because he felt like he didn’t deserve to mend the gap. It mattered little — point is, left to Bruce, relationships slowly brittled away until all that was left was the memory of a laugh and bitter, unresolved resentment. 

A part of Jason believed Bruce only surrounded himself so much so he’d have spare relationships when his current ones inevitably withered.

In another world, another body, the thought alone would have triggered an irrational, whimsical, and uncontrolled storm in Jason. It always did. A mention of Batman and it was like Jason had gone deaf. How can one be reasoned with when they refused to listen? He would hear nothing but the fire’s roar edging him to lash out. The anger was his — he knew that now — but the rage? The rage was what nearly had Cass giving up on him. It alienated him, isolated him from the rest of the world. It shut doors before they opened, burnt bridges before they were done building.

The rage was his inner demon, the green in his veins. But for the first time in years, it wasn’t there to fuck up Jason’s life. Still, he’d let himself blow up.

So when Bruce came back, and Jason felt his blood boil instead of run cold, the younger man lent an ear. He needed to, to prove that he was more than a walking case of Lazarus syndrome.

“Jason,” Bruce said a bit forcefully. You’d think Jason had just blown up Arkham with how Bruce was looking at him. Angry. Driven. “We’re talking.”

Bruce didn’t step in Superman’s library. He stayed by the door, using his large frame to block Jason’s only exit. He was cornering him, aggressively trapping him inside.

Jason felt himself tense. Years of working in the field had his guard shoot up when he was in this kind of position. He almost expected Bruce to gas him and cart him to prison. He needed to get on top of this situation before Bruce could carry out whatever he had planned.

“The Cheshire team has stumbled on another note from Oracle,” Bruce briefed as if he wasn’t basically shackling Jason, “the note claims Nightwing is going to be in danger tonight. I need you to investigate this claim.”

Bruce was giving him a job. No, Jason was no idiot. Blocking his exit so he’d be forced to listen? Bruce wasn’t leaving him a choice. It was a command rather. The message was clear; Jason couldn’t walk out.

“Me?”Jason repeated. He was getting restless. Bruce had no right to force his hand, to order him around and —

 _Listen_.

Dammit.

“What about Huntress or Azrael?” He asked, losing patience rapidly, “It’s their lead, their investigation.”

“I can’t send them,” Bruce admitted, “it needs to be you.”

“I don’t care much for your scheming, B,” Jason warned him with the hint of a growl in his throat, “I'm not your pawn.”

“Nightwing might die,” Bruce urged with steel in his eyes.

“I thought you wanted him to do this alone?” Jason reminded him, throwing his words back at him with obvious mockery.

“Not at the cost of his life.”

“So it all comes back to protecting your golden nestling,” Jason scoffed, “I should have known. You didn’t even want to talk to me earlier, did you? You just needed to, because you needed to use me.”

“That’s not true,” Bruce shot down.

“Really? It’s been days since our last fight, B,” Jason reminded him, “and you didn’t bother talking to me. But now that you need me? Bam. Relationships are conveniences for you. Nothing more.”

“I didn’t speak to you because I’m a coward, Jason,” Bruce suddenly replied, meeting his eyes, “I’m not going to lie. I do need you on the field right now. But that’s not why I’m having this conversation with you. It’s why I’m having it _now_.”

“Because your hand is being forced,” Jason deduced.

“Sometimes everyone needs a push,” Bruce nodded, “and this is mine. I am keeping information from everyone. I am, as you said, ‘scheming.’ That’s why I need you to trust me. Part of what I’m going to ask you is not going to make sense, and might make your job harder. But I need to know you’ll still trust me to have a good plan, and that you’ll follow it.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” Jason deadpanned, “I told you before. I’m not spending my second chance as your lapdog —“

“You don’t get it, do you, Jason?” Bruce sighed frustratingly, “ _You_ didn’t get a second a chance. _We_ did. _I_ did. I got a second choice at having my _son_ back, a second chance at making him understand that I don’t _love_ him any less than his _siblings_. You are free to do whatever you will with that second chance of yours, but so am I. I wasn’t enough of a _father_ to you the first time around, and that’s on me. But I’m done running away. I’m done pretending it doesn’t kill me when we act like damn colleagues. So expect a whole lot more of me from now on, because this is one mess I’m not letting die.”

It was a challenge. Bruce was fucking challenging him. Son, siblings, father… _love_. They called themselves a family, but these words were almost taboo in the household. There was a _reason_ Grayson and Tim called Bruce by his name, why Cass called him Batman. They liked to pretend that they banded together for the Mission, it made them feel stronger than to say they were just a bunch of orphans flocking together like birds of a same feather. There was a thin line no one dared cross from either side, because Batman insisted he wasn’t replacing anyone’s dead parents, and the Robins assured him they weren’t looking for a father in him. It was a lie. A big fat lie, on both accounts. But it was a lie they were all aware of, and a lie they _needed_ to continue functioning as they did. They were all too insecure to let emotions in the fold. That was how they protected themselves. 

That Bruce _himself_ would break this fourth wall he’d set up in this grand comedy turned everything around. The Cold War was over, and Bruce was coming knocking at Jason's door, guns blazing. He was laying it so thick on the family talk, it was like he was trying to cheese Jason into breaking character. It was very unlike him to be so upfront, but perhaps it showed how desperate he was for the audience to stay that he’d address them directly.

“But this isn’t about you, Jason,” Bruce continued, with the tone of a father lecturing his son on responsibility, “you’re angry, but you won’t let an innocent man die. I know you even went out of your way when Jefferson Pierce was wrongly accused of murder to prove to him he wasn’t the culprit. It had nothing to do with you. For all I cannot condone your methods, you’ve always been a good man at heart.”

He wasn’t even trying to keep his aesthetic anymore. He was flattering Jason like a boot licker, and the fucker was well aware Jason was seeing thorough his bullshit. But Bruce didn’t let up on the offensive. He threw bomb after bomb, and Jason knew he wouldn’t dodge them all. The pretence was over, pride be damned.

“We don’t agree on our ideals,” Bruce continued, “I was hoping it was just your anger, but seeing you with Black Mask’s gang, and seeing how you dealt with the Red Hood, I can see you really believe in what you do. This isn’t something that will magically go away, and it will always be a source of conflict for us. However, I’ve worked with Katana before, I’ve worked with Waller. Differences in opinion doesn’t mean we need to hate each other. But to get over that, we need to talk. And to talk we need to be on civil terms. And for that, I believe we need to deal with our History. So when you come back, when we have a break, let’s talk again. For as long as we need to. I give you my word I won’t run.”

“Right now though,” Bruce returned, “we don’t have time. You were right. I did hear your fight. Dick doesn’t trust you. But I do. I trust that you’ve made me a promise not to kill, and that if you don’t want my respect, you at least need your own. I want you to prove Dick wrong, without reconciling. That’s why I need you there with him. You’re not my only wayward son right now, and this is about him.”

There was a glint in Bruce’s eyes, one Jason hadn’t seen since… Well, since he’d been Robin. It made the older man seem younger, more human, more alive. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who’d almost asked for death over a week ago, because this was a man who clung to life, who wanted to drain it dry before even considering letting it go.

This was the old Bruce. The one Dick, Barbara and Jason had fought side by side, the one who, according to Cass, the others never got to meet, because he’d been buried with his soldier. It was almost funny, how Jason too was feeling just like Robin again because of that. And Steph had been right. His Robin days were by far the happiest ones he’d ever had.

Fifteen minutes, huh? Batgirl must have done something.

Against himself, Jason laughed. This whole situation was too ridiculous. Bruce was a ridiculous human being.

“Fine. Give me the location,” he accepted, “you live to save others, and I’m not stubborn enough to deny that your intentions are usually too good for this world. I’ll trust that you fight for others, and that you’re good at it. But don’t get your hopes up for the other thing though, you have _a lot_ to make up for in my regards.”

“We _both_ do,” Bruce replied solemnly, grabbing Jason’s wrist as the young man passed by him. The grip was unshakable, but not tight. “I’m not letting go, Jason.”

He released Jason’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays guys! It's been a while since I uploaded!
> 
> Next up: The truth behind the fifteen minutes, Diana vs. Bruce the Rematch, and Jason learns that when Bruce says some of his orders won't make sense, he means that everything he asks is shady as fuck.


	20. Fathers and sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, Tim wasn't the one with the shittiest situation in this story. His luck remains terrible though. Meanwhile, Jason babysits Dick.

“Bruce! Bruce!”

Bruce didn’t stop at the sound of Stephanie calling him behind. He was walking fast, but she was running — she’d catch up. Besides, if he wasn’t walking angrily, then he wasn’t sure how he’d let his anger out instead. His attempt at talking to Jason had been a disaster, and he frankly didn’t why he’d expected otherwise. The boy refused to listen to reason.

The rhythmic taps of Stephanie’s jog slowed down, and Bruce felt her slide next to him and adjust her pace to match his.

“What did Jay say?” she asked him.

Bruce glared at her.

Stephanie cringed, “Yeah, that sounds about right. Maybe I could go instead?”

“No,” Bruce replied coldly.

“Brrrrrr,” Stephanie fake shivered, “I did as you asked,” she changed subject, waving the papers she was carrying, “and this is what I came up with.”

“These papers are blank, Stephanie,” Bruce pointed out impatiently.

“Exactly,” the girl nodded confidently, “this is the fruit of my efforts—“

“I don’t have time for games,” Bruce snapped, stopping.

“It's not—“

“I asked you to do a job, Stephanie!” He growled, using his height to tower over her.

The girl shrunk, but kept herself together nonetheless. “Let me finish—“ she started weakly.

“Do you even understand how delicate this situation is?” Bruce scolded her, “I thought you had matured enough to take it seriously — but clearly I was wrong.”

Stephanie’s mouth fell open, and then it was like a rush of hot air inflated her again.

“That's not fair,” she told him.

“You keep telling us not to look down on you,” he continued, “but when I actually need you to own up to your elevator pitch, you pull something like this? You had a week — and we’re running out of _time_! You’re just in this for the adventure, for an excuse to flirt with Tim, but this is my life’s work. Some of us actually believe in what we do. I should have stopped your Spoiler act on day one.”

“That’s uncalled for —!” Stephanie gasped, outraged.

“Uncalled for?” Bruce repeated, unamused, “I don’t have the time to wrap you in pillows and shelter you like a child! If you expect me to tend to your wounded pride every time you mess up, especially at the rate where you mess up—“

“Do you even hear yourself talk?” Stephanie spat, raising the volume of her voice higher than Bruce’s, “Look, I get it. Jason doesn’t love you back. You’re sad. But don’t you fucking dare take it out on me! I’m tired of being your punching bag every time one of your Robins goes against daddy dearest. If you’d just hear me out — Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking to. The only sound you hear is that of your own dramatic angst.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce warned dangerously. The girl didn’t even blink at his underlying threat, and it only stirred the anger within him further.

“I know,” she said with sarcastic exaggeration, “your parents died. I heard. Breaks my heart. The world has never seen anything so tragic. No one’s ever lost a parent before.”

“Stop talking, Stephanie!”

“Get over yourself, Bruce! You don’t own exclusive rights to a sob story. There are people out there — your _own daughter_ for example — who have been dealt much worse cards. And stop making light of my own life! You have no idea how it haunts me at night — I was _tortured_! Sometimes, I catch myself wishing my father _dead_. And… And I gave up _a child_ — can you even imagine…? You think I don’t take this seriously? News flash emo-boy, you’re not the only one justified in your crusade.”

“ _Do not talk of my parents’ death like this!_ ”

“What are you gonna do? Fire me? _Again?_ ”

“Stop.”

Stephanie and Bruce both complied, but neither relaxed their stance. Somewhere along the line, they had found themselves with fists balled, head leaning forward, and knees ready to spring. Their eyes barely shifter from their mutual death glare to see the intruder.

Superman was floating between the two of them, arms stretched out to keep them separate. Looking at his face, you’d think he just watched a mother eat her newborn.

“Both of you, need to cool down,” he mediated, looking at Bruce and Stephanie alternatively.

“Yeah Bruce,” Stephanie sneered, “Chill.”

“ _Both_ of you.”

“Listening in again, _Kent_?” Bruce asked mockingly.

“You're in the middle of the Fortress,” Superman replied, “and I was _right there_.”

And they were. They were in the central room, and the main monitor was showing a criminal file, one which Superman had clearly been studying when the two Bats had stormed in blowing up at each other.

“This is none of my business,” he started.

“You're damn right it isn’t,” Bruce agreed.

“But you’re both acting like children,” Superman continued without interruption, “so I’m going to talk to you like children.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Bruce dismissed him, moving to walk past him. Superman firmly placed his hand on Bruce’s chest, and it was unshakable.

“Even if you could somehow fight me,” Superman reminded him, “you're in no state to do so. My medical facilities may have sped up your healing, but I can still take you down with a sneeze.”

A part of Bruce, probably the same one that decided to become a Bat furry and fight crime, wanted to accept the challenge. The other one, his pride, held him back. Superman was right, Bruce didn’t have any tricks to win in his belt. He could fake bravado, use words instead of knives, and insult the man for victory, but at the same time, he just couldn’t.

That was the thing with Superman. Standing next to him was humbling, even for Batman. Not because he was all powerful, surprisingly. It was his confidence, his clear gaze, the fact that this alien was incorruptible, and that he was so much more human than any of them. Even this Clark had an unshakable moral ground, and a heart the size of a dragon. As an actual human, it grated Bruce that he was so… perfect. It showed him how kind one could be, and mocked him with the fact that he wasn’t.

Superman always did inspire people to do better.

Acting petty? Faking having the upper hand, while everyone knew he didn’t? It was beneath Bruce. He wanted it to be beneath him. He couldn’t let Superman see it any other way. Wise men knew when to fold, and if there was one person Bruce had no shame folding to, it was Superman.

“Might be for the best,” Stephanie jabbed, “then at least he’d stop criticising me."

“You don’t mean that,” Superman replied solemnly, “I’ve seen you stand at his bedside when he passed out. You don’t like seeing him hurt. You care about him.”

Stephanie looked away, contradicted. She didn’t argue.

_It doesn’t even matter because I happen to care about him and Jason so up yours, tighty-pants!_

The young woman had said that when the Justice League had captured them at Wayne Manor. He remembered it clearly, because it had hit him like one of Bane’s punch, but without the hurt. She was being endlessly stupid back then, goading the captors when she could have been helping them from outside. Even Jason had tried to keep her from getting caught with them, but the girl had been too stubborn. It was a mistake he’d expect from Impulse or Hal Jordan, but one of his own?

And yet Bruce hadn’t had it in him to say that. _I appreciate the sentiment_ was all that came out. She was being earnest, and Bruce found he couldn’t trample all over that.

Others didn’t usually tell him that. Even his Robins. They showed it, and dammit he knew they cared so much, too much, but they never said. Stephanie had always been the toughest of them all, in weird ways.

Superman’s words weren’t just meant for Stephanie though. It was clear in the pointed look he sent Bruce, that the converse held. Bruce cared about Stephanie, and they were both being absolute cretins for dancing around that fact instead of facing it.

“What you said,” she muttered, “it _hurt_.”

He had wanted to hurt her, he realised. He had chosen his words because he’d known where to hit to destroy her. He'd been angry, and she’d been so right. He was taking it out on her. Stephanie had earned his respect, and he’d done nothing but neglect her achievements. He hadn’t even tried to hear her. He’d been looking for a fight, and there were no criminals here to beat up.

Bruce closed his eyes, guilt flowing in. “I know,” he whispered sincerely, “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m still… trying.”

“That’s… good?” she acknowledged skeptically.

“No, it’s not good,” Bruce confessed, “I keep messing up with you. All of you. But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”

“Then try harder,” Stephanie urged him.

“Nothing I say will be enough to —“

“Look, B,” Stephanie sighed, running a hand through her head, “Jason may be in denial, but I know what I saw in this world. I believe you when you say you’re trying. You’ve been under considerable stress here, and being bedridden is getting to you. When we were at the Manor, you even said…”

“I remember what I said,” Bruce admitted quietly.

Stephanie startled slightly, but quickly adapted to the new revelation.

“Allowing Jason to order you around,” Stephanie listed, she waved the papers in her hands again “trusting me with this… and don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing with Dick. You’ve been trying to make it up to us. You’re under some delusion that you haven’t done enough for us, but that’s complete bull. You offered Jason and I your _life_. That’s not what we’ve been trying to say. That’s _not_ why we’re angry! We’re pissed because you don’t seem to care what _we_ think of _you_! In your mind, as long as you love us enough for everyone, everything’s fine. We get the importance of secrecy and tactical decisions, Bruce. But you manipulate us _knowing_ we’re going to be pissed at you, and that doesn’t seem to stop you the least. That you love us doesn’t matter if you don’t cherish our relationship equally, and that requires effort from you too.”

“…Are you finished?” Bruce asked tentatively.

“No!” Stephanie snapped, “Also, you… you… uhm.. Okay, actually I’m pretty much done.”

“I can’t promise not to mess up again,” Bruce compromised, “but I will work on it.”

“That's all I can ask.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Let’s stop this conversation here before it becomes too emotional.”

“Agreed,” Stephanie concluded, “come talk to me when you’re done solving your Jason problem, I do actually have a solution to what you asked.”

“I will,” Bruce nodded, “and Stephanie… Thank you for being patient with me.”

Stephanie grinned as she walked backwards out of the room, “Hey if I can’t take your tantrums, who will? I’m all about taking hits.”

Bruce and Superman were left behind.

“The world would be such a happier place if people expressed their love more openly,” Superman smiled.

Bruce snorted, “That is such a you thing to say.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” The Kryptonian challenged him good-naturedly, nodding to where Stephanie had left the room, “Exibit A.”

Bruce hummed in agreement. He didn’t move to leave, and it confused Superman. The man of Steel was however too polite to bail out before Bruce had made it clear he was done. So instead, they stood next to each other for a few second, in silence.

“Thank you,” Bruce finally said.

“For what?” Superman asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You smell like the sea, there’s soot on you cape,” Bruce explained, “and I’m pretty sure you solved that case two days ago,” he added, pointing at the monitor, “you weren’t anywhere near, and you were busy. So thank you, Clark. I needed this.”

The man nodded sheepishly, caught, “Anytime.” Then, he paused, as if pondering whether he was allowed to state the next the fact. Eventually, he looked Bruce in the eyes: “You don’t listen to each other enough. Most of you would rather win the argument than reach a consensus. But I’ve seen how you interact. You’re their father.”

It was both a reminder and a reproach. Bruce prided himself in his deduction skills, and vast knowledge, but that was one truth that had always hung in the air, and that he had purposely ignored. Not just ignored — he had run from it. But when Superman said something, words became law.

“So it would seem.”

It was time to have another talk with Jason.

* * *

They were — They were gone. Both of them.

“Zach?” Tim was asking, as if he hadn’t just told him two girls he thought of as _sisters_ had been _kidnapped_ , “Buddy? You okay?”

It wasn’t supposed to have gone that way. Traci and Lori were supposed to have been safe inside their enchanted hideout, their own impregnable fortress. They were supposed to be have been waiting for them, surrounded by books and scripts as they worked on the logistics of the spell that had brought the Bats to their world. They were supposed to greet them with the fruit of their research, good or bad… But they hadn’t. 

Zach had brought Tim to their hidden apartment, supposedly safe, and they had been met with eery silence. At first he’d just thought maybe they had gotten out to get a bite, or maybe they hadn’t heard them come in.

Yes, the apartment was old, creaky, and far from soundproof, and yes, they were countless charms set on the eighteenth century mahogany door placed to alarm the inhabitants of any entry in their lair. Still, there was always a chance —

But then Tim noticed the laptop, the wallets. He noticed scorch marks that looked too new to be from their many magic mishaps. He figured out that Gorgon had access to this location all along, and all he asked was “Why now?” as he kneeled on the floor, examining dust and spilled ink.

Zach was still stuck on the fact that Alice and Traci were kidnapped. That they hadn’t been safe from the start. They were gone.

He felt… Alone. _Again_.

The last time something like that had happened, Young Justice had been there for him. But they weren’t. They were out there beating up some C-list villains to keep the pretence that they were not investigating something weird. Zach was crumbling inside, again, and there Tim was looking like he was just filling in a spreadsheet or doing the groceries.

“Zach? I’m going to need your help,” Tim continued, this time meeting his eyes, “normally I’d guess that either someone wants us to stay in this dimension, or Black Alice and Traci Thirteen found something they weren’t supposed to, but I don’t know this world enough to venture a solid guess. Is there another explanation for this?”

There were traces of magic at JSA headquarters. Not just anyone could have beaten Zatanna with magic. And if Catgirl — or Misfit as the Bats called her — had been right about the Red Hood’s report on Gorgon and Luthor, then — Mother of magic.

Zach had figured it out.

Zach knew the who, what, why and how behind the JSA massacre.

“No,” he whispered, “No, no, _no_!”

“Zach?”

Tim’s full attention was on him now, and there Zach could see how he was different from their Tim. It wasn’t the fact that he’d let his hair grow out, or that he was dressed in a racing suit. This Tim was confident and focused. Maybe he cared just as much as theirs, maybe he was being crushed by the same pressure that had Cassie drowning in bouts of anxiety, but he didn’t show it. He was in control. In full control.

Zach couldn’t allow that to be in jeopardy.

He’d already torn them from their home, he couldn’t let them get hurt further because of him. He’d mess up enough. This was his duty. His fault. His job.

“You need to get out of here,” Zach suddenly told Tim, getting a raised eyebrow in response, “Get. Out.”

“Zach?”

“Now!” He urged, practically shoving the smaller boy to the door.

A magical chain sprang from the floor and barred access to the front door of the apartment. Tim barely flinched, but a millisecond and a clack! later, he had whirled around, knees ready to spring, eyes on target, and bo staff deployed.

Consciously or subconsciously, Tim had placed his body between Zach and the intruder, who was standing smugly in the middle of the living room. For that, Zach couldn’t be anymore grateful.

Giovanni Zatara dusted his shoulder, and then squinted at Tim. “An illusion charm,” he pointed out, no doubt seeing through Blue Beetle’s mirage and seeing the Bat under, “clever, Zachary.”

Tim stood absolutely no chance against Giovanni. Intellectually, Zach knew that. But just seeing his father’s face, just having him in his personal space, in his safe haven — he could feel his heart tightening with every passing seconds, begging him to get out, to breathe, threatening to shut down under pressure. He found himself flinching every time Giovanni so much as twitched —

Tim was in danger. He had to help Tim. But he couldn’t move. He wasn’t brave enough. He wasn’t strong enough.

Everything thunderclapped back into his mind at once. The mind control, the draining, the orders, the isolation — Everything Giovanni had ever done to him, and dammit he was supposed to hate him, to loathe even just his name — but all he could feel was fear.

Giovanni was a fucking monster, and no matter how Zach had fought, how he would struggle in the future, his cries always fell on deaf ears.

“Lori and Traci certainly have grown since I last saw them,” the Devil spoke calmly, “I was almost reluctant to chain two young ladies like them.”

Stop. Stop. Stop.

“Where have you taken them?” Tim growled.

Don’t challenge him Tim. You can’t win Tim. He’s going to take you too Tim. Please don’t let him take you too.

“Don't worry young Bat,” evil cooed, “you're going to join them soon.”

No! He couldn’t — Fate couldn’t be this cruel. Wasn’t it enough? Hadn’t Zach been tormented enough? Why couldn’t he just — close his eyes, let it end. Die if he must — but why couldn’t fate just let. It. End?

Bat. He’d called him a Bat. Giovanni knew.

“Breathe, Zach,” Tim told him quietly, granting him a worried glance. Was that concern? He looked concerned. After all the crap Zach had made him go through, other Tim still cared.

“Why are you even protecting him?” The human trash asked curiously, “It's his fault you’re stranded.”

“He was trying to help,” Tim countered, “don't take another step forward,” he then warned, angry, "I know what kind of person you are. No one should have that kind of reaction to their father.”

Giovanni laughed. “You don’t know the half of it, child.”

Tim hissed in disgust, “How are you a reserve member of the Justice League? Diana would never let someone like you in.”

“I believe Zachary knows all about that,” Giovanni purred with malice, “don't you Zachary? Don’t you remember what I did when your Young Justice friends came asking questi —“

“Stop talking to him!” Tim snapped, “Stop — mind control,” he suddenly realised, in horror, “just like our Zatanna did. You’ve been erasing memories, playing with people’s thoughts!”

“Let it go, Tim!” Zach finally broke, “ _Please_!”

“Let what go?” Tim asked, looking completely scandalised, “He's been completely isolating you, hasn’t he? Oh my God, no wonder you turned to God summoning. He’s made you completely desperate — he’s been playing with you like a cat with a crippled mouse! Christ, Zach, why didn’t you ask for he —you did. Of course you did. They forgot. Jesus. He really had you cornered. This is some Joker twisted shit!”

“Stop…” Zach begged, but he could see Giovanni’s smirk only growing deeper.

"Looks like someone knows too much,” Giovanni concluded happily. Tim’s eyes widened, but there was little he could do about anything, “ _Peels_.”

Tim tumbled to the ground, unconscious.

Yes, that was right. Zach couldn’t get help. He wasn’t allowed to. Those were the rules.

Lori, Traci and Zatanna were the only ones powerful enough to break them.

Giovanni was suddenly close, too close, and Zach backed away by reflex, bumping into the chains blocking the door as he did. The older magician had one hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“I can’t kill Lori and Traci,” Giovanni admitted, not that Zach was unaware of that fact, “I need them. This boy on the other hand…”

“Wh- What do you want?” Zach demanded, trying to mask his fear with anger.

“I want you,” Giovanni simply replied, “I need you to willingly surrender yourself to me.”

Zatanna’s last line of defence. The last spell of hers that lingered around Zach, Lori and Alice. One of them had to be willing. Not even Giovanni could break that.

“I—“ Zach stammered.

“Now, now,” Giovanni tutted, “I'm no monster. I’ll give you four days to show up at my doorstep. Otherwise, he dies, and I’ll get the next one. I have plenty of Bats to choose from, thanks to you.”

This could not be happening. Zach couldn’t let Giovanni get him — but Tim — 

“The boy will be released without a scratch if you cooperate, of course. I’ll even find a way to return them all home, I swear on my soul.”

Did he… owe them that much? After forcing them in this universe? From what Tim said, their Justice League relied on them as much as his relied on Gorgon. Their world or his, was that really the choice Zach was left with?

“I don't have time to wait for your answer now: Diana needs my help to hunt down Wayne. I’ll be seeing you around, boy. _Tropelet emoh_ ,” Giovanni smirked, before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

All of Zach’s muscles let go at once, and he let himself fall to the ground, as if time had stopped and was now running its tracks again. His heart was still raging, pumping in his ears, but for a while his mind was blissfully blank, as the information just wouldn’t process.

And then it came crashing into him. The weight on his shoulders.

He couldn’t let Giovanni get his hands on the full set. Him already having Traci and Lori made him beyond powerful, but Zach as well? Giovanni was evil — and Zach was damned if he was going to be used against innocent people, against his own friends.

But if he didn’t show up, then Tim was going to die. Both Tims, probably. And that, was out of the question as well.

Zach curled into a ball on the floor.

Too much. This was too much.

He couldn’t save everyone. He had to decide between the Bats dying, or the heroes of his own world losing their free will.

Or… There was a third option.

Zachary took a deep breath, and pulled himself up. 

It was time to stop being a fucking coward.

* * *

“Hey guys!”

“Aaaah!” Kon yelled, jumping from his seat on the curb, “Dammit! Please stop doing that.”

Misfit, obviously unrepentant about popping in from nowhere, shrugged.

The others were talking to a C-list superhero, Jesse James, as the police handcuffed the perp they had arrested together. They had chosen that particular mission on purpose, of course, James, also known as the Trickster, wasn’t close enough to the White Flash to know Impulse wasn’t supposed to be on the team, and he was close enough to the superhero community to spread the word that Young Justice was functioning as usual.

Other Tim was a frightening strategist.

It was worth it just to see Leviathan try to act friendly. Thank God the illusion didn’t work on people who already knew the truth. Watching the brat force a wide smile, and jump up and down to feign hyper-activeness was a beauty amongst jewels. Of course, every time the Trickster turned around, his smile turned to a scowl so quickly Kon was permanently afraid someone was going to get stabbed, but still. The kid was a great actor, he could give him that. 

Kon had been hanging a bit backwards, feeling still a bit out of touch with the costumed community, when Misfit had appeared.

Cassie noticed her, and peeled herself from Bart and Leviathan to join them, greeting Keystone police officers on the way. Leviathan followed shortly after, following Cassie like she was his big sister. Of course, it only seemed that way from behind. From the front it looked more like the brat was plotting the Trickster's tragic demise.

“So?”

Misfit bit her lip, “I, uhm, are you sure they were going to Zach’s apartment?”

“Well that’s what they _said_ they were going to do,” Cassie frowned.

“It's empty,” Misfit informed them, “ _empty_ empty."

“That's strange,” Cassie frowned, “These three are a bit paranoid. They don’t usually leave their home completely unattended.”

“Maybe it’s part of other Tim’s plan?” Kon suggested.

They all turned to Leviathan. The boy was seriously considering it, but he seemed rather uneasy about the idea.

“Drake values allies more than any of us,” he told them, “he doesn’t always divulge his full plans, but it is very unlike him to go fully dark when he’s not emotionally compromised. If Misfit cannot find him, then Drake has no way of communicating with his allies, and that is not a loss he usually considers worth the risk.”

“So you think something happened,” Misfit concluded, “I was getting that feeling too. Zach’s apartment felt… Electric. I think it’s a magic thing. I feel like that when I teleport. I think he might have cast a spell or something.”

“We should warn father.”

Misfit nodded, “I'm on it."

* * *

“I'm sorry, you want us to _what_?” Jason hissed in the ear piece.

He had locked himself in the bathroom of the hotel room he had dragged Grayson to, after having rescued him heroically from Luthor. Breaking through a half disarmed security system had been a piece of cake, Shooting the baldy’s hand before he shot pretty boy easy enough, and escaping from a pregnant disabled woman not much of a challenge, but finding a reasonably priced hotel in Metropolis? He’d seen diamonds that weren’t as hard. Unbelievable.

There was an investment idea for Bruce if he was interesting.

He had eventually found one, and tossed Nightwing on the bed, slept a while on the armchair, before isolating himself to the bathroom to get orders from Bruce. Yes, _orders_.

“I know you said to trust you,” Jason argued, “but this is… Are you high again?”

“No, I’m not high,” Bruce patiently replied.

“Just checking,” Jason shrugged.

“I told you I was going to give you strange requests.”

“Strange doesn’t quite cover that,” Jason countered, “plus, this just seems like the kind of move that Steph— oh _. Oh._ ”

Bruce must have heard the penny drop.

“So you will do it?" 

Jason felt a shark like grin climb on his face, “Fuck yes. I don’t know what your long game is, but that is an opportunity I will never get again. I suppose Grayson must stay out of the loop?”

“Yes.”

“Got it, B,” Jason concluded, “Don't worry, Deathstroke is in for a surprise.”

“Please don’t do anything stupider than the plan,” Bruce added.

“ _Me_?” Jason asked, in fake offense.

Bruce hung up.

Jason rose from the toilet seat and stretched. He’d already spent the rest of the night after his daring rescue sleeping, so he was pretty awake. The same could not be said of his damsel, but he was starting to hear him steer, which was a vast improvement.

Plus, the bathroom was kind of mouldy and small and he didn’t want to stay there.

“Morning sunshine!” He chirped as he barged out of the bathroom. He opened the curtains wide. It was midday.

Grayson groaned.

“Yeah, same.”

Grayson rolled his eyes. “Were you talking to someone?” He asked, his voice half muffled by a pillow.

“Misfit was here,” he lied, “B has a job for us.”

“Cool,” the older man replied, nodding off. Suddenly, he shot up straight. “ _Jason_? What are you doing here? Where am I?”

“You, my friend,” Jason explained as he sat down on the window sill, “are lucky to be alive. We’ve been suspecting Barbie of foul play for a while now. What were you thinking strolling into her home?”

“The messages from Oracle,” Grayson replied having trouble piecing thoughts together. The drug hadn’t flushed though his system yet. “They said not to go.”

“So you went?” Jason concluded in disbelief.

“It was fishy!” Grayson defended himself, “They said ‘it leads to nowhere’ and other crap like that! As a detective, I had to risk it!”

“Not immediately,” Jason reasoned, “Christ Dickhead, did you even pause to consider Oracle might have been on our side?”

“I've beaten traps before,” the older vigilante argued.

Jason raised an eyebrow.

Grayson looked absolutely terrible, and slightly woozy. His hair was sticking out from everywhere, and his shirt was still stained with blood splatter. Going to Barbara’s place had been a terrible idea, with catastrophic consequences. He had expected someone like the new brat to be prideful and defend their tactical decision, but Grayson had always been the more shameless of the lot. Surprisingly, he was terribly defensive of his choice.

“Yeah, well if it wasn’t for Oracle, you’d be dead,” Jason informed him, “Oracle sent a message to the Cheshire team, warning them about you walking headfirst in danger.”

“Oracle!” the acrobat exclaimed, remembering, “I need to find out who it is!”

“Oh, you’re off this case,” Jason told him.

The man looked absolutely confused.

“As I said: B wants us to do something else,” Jason clarified, “and after how reckless you were with Barbara, he’s assigned me as your chaperone, to make sure you don’t get any more shitty ideas.”

“He didn’t,” Grayson gasped, horrified, “he trusts me.”

Jason smiled.

“I'm a grown adult,” Grayson whined.

Jason shrugged.

“I'm _Batman,_ ” he insisted like a six year old in need of a lollipop.

The words came out as the logical continuation of his previous arguments, but they did click something in Jason’s mind. The state of things in their worlds as they left it were completely blurry, but now that Grayson had mentioned it, Jason realised it was probably true. Jason couldn’t remember Dick officially ditching the cowl. He was technically still Batman.

“Boss’s order,” Jason finally ended the discussion, "besides, investigating Oracle requires a level of discretion we do not currently have,” Jason explained, picking up the remote and switching on the TV.

“Current—?“ Grayson frowned.

_“— death of Ted Kord deals a heavy blow for technology advances, as the current lead on the tech market, Kord Industries, relied heavily on their CEO’s genius. Ted Kord leaves behind two parents and a pregnant wife, the latter of which witnessed the horrendous crime. The two men responsible for this tragedy have been identified through her statement: Jason Todd, a young delinquent from Gotham, who has apparently acted as the Black Mask in the past, and an anonymous individual going by Nightwing, who is a known associate of Bruce Wayne. The two have last been seen —”_

“Not gonna lie, I’m not even surprised anymore,” Grayson sighed, “g‘night chaperone,” he slumped his head back into his pillow and fell asleep again.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead, sleep, it’s not like we’re completely screwed or anything,” the older vigilante snored, “Fucking idiot.”

For someone he didn’t trust, the circus boy sure let his guard down easily around Jason. Then again, he’d walked head first into an obvious trap, without prior investigation. Nightwing had always been a risk taker, but this… It just didn’t add up. Sometimes he was so uptight he stopped Jason from touching Steph’s _hair_ , and other times it was like Batman had never drilled the rules of precaution into his young, impressionable brain.

If Jason was right, their job wasn’t delicate or precise. The methods didn’t matter. There was a target for consequences their actions had to result in, and anything that fell within the circle was fair game. It meant that he could focus his energy on an other case: that of Dick Grayson’s psych.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I'm not dead!  
> Sorry for the delay, and the lie in the previous chapter's notes. I've been going over the plan recently, and Bruce vs Diana will have to be in the next chapter.
> 
> Next up: Bruce vs. Diana (for realz this time I hope), Bruce's plan is actually working, and I'll be honest I'm not entirely sure what exactly I'll be able to fit in there yet but hopefully it won't take me another month to update.


	21. Worst Tinder date experience: didn't like the waiter's face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing with Raven, was that she couldn't feel any emotion too greatly, or she risked following into her father's footsteps. Back home, that meant she had tremendous control over her feelings. In this world, she had just gone for not giving a single fuck.
> 
> Meanwhile, Dick is convinced Jason is trolling him, Barbara is convinced Dick is trolling her, and everyone's gonna think Bruce has gone bonkers when they learn about who the new boss is.

“This isn’t good,” Bruce frowned.

“What is?” Stephanie asked as she strolled in the main hall, having only caught that sentence, “Oh, hi Charlie!”

Misfit smiled tiredly and waved her hand, “Hey Steph. There’s been some bad news on the Young Justice front.”

Stephanie placed her plate of waffles and her coffee mug on the table. Bruce had long finished his breakfast, and Misfit clearly wasn’t planning on staying long enough to eat. Superman, on the other hand, had a waffle stack that impressed even Steph. She had stopped trying to out-breakfast him on day three. It was not a challenge she should have accepted in the first place. Mortals had limitations.

“Did Babs find out they’re already our allies?” Steph guessed, “It's a bit early for that, but we can work around it.”

“No,”Bruce told her, “Tim and Zachary Zatara have gone missing, and the rest of the Coven of Three is nowhere to be found either.”

Crap. Steph knew that Tim could handle himself, but it didn’t stop her from worrying. Other costumed heroes from their world often assumed everything the Bats did, be it coming up with a plan, deducting things, or plain slight of hands tricks, was like conjuring a rabbit was for Zatanna. Effortless. But it wasn’t. It took planning and skill. Sometimes, the right solution just didn’t come to mind. And sometimes, there was no solution at all. That was the problem about being a Bat: Stephanie knew just how human they were, and she knew just how much of the Batman myth was mythical. They were good, yes, excellent even, but they advertised themselves so much better than they truly were. Intimidation was a great chunk of their strength.

Bruce looked calm, and Stephanie had to trust that he wasn’t really.

“So basically everyone who had a chance of figuring out how to bring you guys home,” Superman concluded, “Someone wants to trap you here.”

“That doesn’t really make sense, though, does it?” Misfit asked, “I mean, the Coven was the one to bring us here unprompted in the first place. So if they want to send us back, who would stop them?”

“What about Barbatros?” Stephanie ventured, “Apparently the deal with him was that we had to restore balance to go home. Maybe he won’t allow us back until then.”

“I'm pretty sure he could just block the Coven’s magic if they attempted it,” Misfit argued back, “vanishing them feels a bit too… _human_ , for a God. And why take Tim then?”

Bruce sighed, loudly. It was a very surrendering kind of sight, with a tinge of annoyance.

“There's too many things it could be,” he told them, “name a villain, a motif, and they're a possibility.”

Superman frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Restoring the balance is not about Zatanna’s death,” Bruce told them, “Barbatros wouldn’t have summoned _us_ if it was. What do _we_ know about magic? We’re leaders, networkers, organisers. The only thing we’re good at on this scale is human resource troubleshooting and restructuring. The real problem, is that in this world, the hero community is fragile.”

“We're not—“

“Let me finish, Kent. You’re closer than in our world, emotionally. But you’re too busy protecting each other, and it’s affecting your efficiency. Wars are won by sending soldiers to the front, not by keeping them all in a bomb shelter. In our world, the Teen Titans have long been emancipated from the Justice League. In our world, we wouldn’t have sat on the knowledge that Tim was a potential traitor for so long. Sometimes, one of us dies, and some let their emotions get the better of them. But the others are always there to stop them from going too far. We don’t just keep each other safe, we keep each other _in check_ above all. When the JSA died in this world, _everyone_ went on a hunt for blood. You’re acting with a single heart, a single mentality, and that makes you easy to break.”

“It means we spend less time at each other’s throats,” Superman pointed out defensively.

“True,” Bruce allowed, “but it also means that every tragedy has you _all_ in disarray. Have you seen the state of your community right now? Because you all care so much for each other, the single idea of a traitor has thrown the Justice League into a pseudo-Red Scare. Young Justice has gone completely rogue, and no one has noticed. Twenty of us are acting grossly out of character, and no one’s questioning that we’re who we say we are. Nemesis, a _mass murderer_ is out there, and everyone’s so focused on hunting me and my associates down that there’s no one trying to get _her_ back in jail. She killed two prisons’ worth of civilians on _a whim_. I allegedly killed a handful of superheroes against whom my counterpart has _legitimate motif_.”

“Rao,” Superman paled, “I hadn’t even… realised.”

“You're not exactly super involved in the community to be honest,” Stephanie told him sympathetically.

“Someone’s even almost manipulated us into executing an innocent man,” Superman added, “Are we really so easily deceived?”

Bruce nodded, “Everyone's acting on the same intel, the same feeling, but without coordination. The community is in complete chaos, any villain could have their picking, and it would just rattle everyone more. You’ve all stopped seeing the big picture. The massacre has spooked your whole community, Superman. They’ve lost their bearings.”

“We’re completely vulnerable,” Superman groaned, “we need to do something.”

“We already are,” Bruce reassured him, “the image the League is projecting right now is intimidating enough. They’re out for blood, and it makes them seem focus and dangerous. Most bad guys will steer out of the way. And the ones smart enough to realise the state in which the Justice League truly is, Luthor, Ra’s, the Gotham underground, are too busy playing chess with me to turn on them.”

“Ooh!” Misfit exclaimed, snapping her fingers, “So that’s why you scattered everyone! You’re keeping both the good and bad guys focused on us so they can’t take it out on each other.”

“In part,” Bruce nodded, “it buys the Justice League enough time to sort themselves out.”

“And the rest of the plan should give them the advantage they need to get back in the game smoothly, and grant us enough safety and leeway to see it through” Stephanie finished, "how do you know they will sort themselves out though?”

“Dick has already planted a seed of doubt in the Titans’ heads,” Bruce reminded them, “Young Justice has completely branched out thanks to Tim, and Diana was never one to be blind to the truth for long. The rest will follow. What they need however, is time. Unfortunately, with Tim and the Coven missing, time is not a luxury.”

“And even less so now,” Superman muttered, his eyes suddenly fixed on the wall of his Fortress, “Wonder Woman's jet is approaching, Captain Marvel and Giovanni Zatara are with her. You need to leave.”

Bruce cursed under his breath. He was pretty much completely healed, thanks to Superman’s alien technologies, but he couldn’t take on three of the Justice League’s biggest powerhouses at once. Each of the three was an even match for Superman, Diana would most certainly go for a one on one with Bruce, which left either Captain Marvel or Zatara to Steph and Charlie.

Bruce stole the rest of Steph’s coffee, and downed it one swing. It was a curse to have the same taste in coffee as the Batman.

He slammed it back down.

“Kent, I’m going to need you to take Stephanie to Young Justice,” he ordered, before turning to said blonde, “you're now in full command of the plan. Misfit, inform Jason and Damian that they take orders from her, and only her, then come back here as soon as possible. I’m going dark, but I should be able to get into contact with Dick and Jason on my own eventually. If not, Oracle will come to you, so just get in touch with Cheshire’s team yourself and carry out the plan to completion.”

“What are you going to do?” Stephanie asked him.

“Find Tim,” he answered without hesitation, “Give me an earpiece, Misfit, and one for yourself. Stay hidden when you come back. Disperse.”

They all looked uneasy at the thought of leaving Bruce to fend all three metas alone, but no one argued. This was Batman dishing out orders, and Batman usually knew what he was doing. A few days ago, Stephanie would have been worried about him making lethal plans, but being at the Fortress seemed to have given him a bit of spirit back — be it because of the confrontations he’d gone through, or the man who had prompted them.

Stephanie immediately went to pack the strict minimum, and Charlie vanished in a puff of smoke.

* * *

“He _killed_ Ted, Raven,” Vic reminded her, frustrated.

“I said no,” Raven dismissed him, keeping her eyes on the screen of her laptop.

Vic, Donna and Wally were all pestering her in her house, right in the middle of a Counter Strike game. It was annoying enough that the recent loss of Blue Beetle was seeping from their hearts, but their timing could not have been worse. Besides, their request was ridiculous.

“We had a deal with Nightwing,” Donna said, “that if he stepped out of line, we’d know where he is.”

Being an empath was a real pain sometimes. Raven could feel how betrayed and guilty they felt, for having fallen for Nightwing’s charms and defended him, when all he had brought them was Ted Kord’s death. Donna was the worst, and it was easy to guess why. She had a closer rapport to the truth than anyone else, and had thus opened her friendship to Nightwing more than the others.

“The deal was that I’d create a bridge to his soul,” Raven corrected them, “so that _I_ ’d always know where he is. Nothing was said about me telling _you_.”

“You're siding with _him_?” Vic scoffed.

“You didn’t see his soul, Cyborg,” Raven told him almost out of boredom.

“'Purest soul you’ve ever seen,' yeah, you mentioned that last time,” Wally quoted, “but what does that even mean?”

“I’ve seen many souls,” Raven explained, “and I always see the selfish part of people, their darkest sides when I do so. Nightwing was hurt, conflicted, confused, scared and lost, but he didn’t let any of that change his beliefs, he meant everything he told you, and also he thinks of us as best friends.” And no one ever cared that much about her before.

“So he cares about life and — wait, what was that last part? That one you added as an afterthought?” Wally frowned.

“He may not be from this world,” Raven shrugged as she shot one of her opponents, “but he _cares_ , and he’s here to help.”

“Woah — He’s not from this _world_?” Donna repeated, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“One of the souls in his body isn’t. He didn’t want you to know, and I respect his decision,” Raven replied, “now will you _please_ get out of my house?”

“ _One_ of his souls?!” Wally gaped, looking disturbed.

“You're telling us now,” Vic pointed out.

“I would tell you my three sizes if it gets rid of you lot. Go away.”

“He has more than one _soul_?! He thinks we're his _friends_? Dude, you can’t just drop that kind of bomb and expect us _not_ to have questions!”

“Don't care. Door’s that way.”

* * *

Bruce watched as the jet landed right outside the Fortress. He was standing in front of it alone, as the sole welcome committee for the task force meant to bring him in. The three of them came out of the jet in uniform, while Bruce was simply wearing thick clothes — warm enough for a chilly autumn day, and thin enough not to obstruct his movements. He could take the cold.

He gauged the three Leaguers. It was a good lineup against Superman, as there were very few who could match his strength. Still, it felt a little overkill. Zatara made sense if Diana expected Bruce to resort to sneakier tricks. But Batson? He was certainly powerful, but he was too easy to influence. Besides, he didn’t have the emotional growth to turn against one of his allies, especially not one he probably idolised as much as Superman. Strategically, he could be very helpful, but he was also a possible liability.

Diana was a better general than that. She should have gone for Starfire.

“Should we, uhm, knock him out or something?” Batson suggested once they were in hearing range.

“No,” Diana turned down regally, unsheathing one of the two swords on her back, before throwing it on the snow at Bruce’s feet. “We resume.”

Bruce picked it up, and nodded once in agreement.

“So, should we just…?” Batson asked awkwardly.

“We stay quiet and watch,” Zatara told him sternly, “if Superman arrives and intervenes, we stop him.”

Diana and Bruce closed the distance between the two of them, and took their stances.

 _Clang_!

They exchanged blows with their swords, but it was nothing as violent as their first bout. They were meeting as swordsmen, and technique was greatly overshadowing brute force. Bruce found that in general, there were two types of fair fights. No matter the chosen discipline, one was usually considerably worse or better than their opponent. It made the fight erratic, unbalanced, and depending on the side one found themselves on, either chaotic or irritating. But sometimes there were opponents against which fighting was like dancing. It was like they had agreed on the level of difficulty they had set for themselves, and both were meeting the requirement.

Their fight was almost enjoyable, elegant. It was almost a warm-up spar, neither of them allowing anger to guide their arm.

Diana was much calmer than during their first fight. Bruce had had the advantage of surprise the first time around, but this Diana already knew what to expect from him. She was going to take him seriously from the start, and it would make it much harder to rile her up.

They circled each other, gauging their opponents. They were both much too experienced to be bothered by the snow at first, but Bruce knew it would tire him before her. He thought of the frozen lake behind the jet. If they could get on ice, Bruce had better fine-tuning of his movements and awareness of his environment. Diana risked breaking it, and the extra concentration it would take from her could give Bruce the spark of an edge in this fight.

“Are they just going to stare at each other?” Bruce heard Captain Marvel ask Zatara.

Bruce couldn’t be on the offensive this time. He couldn’t allow himself to be incapacitated for so long again, not with Tim’s whereabouts unknown. For once self-preservation was his priority. For Tim, if not for himself.

Diana went for the first strike, charging like a tank. The suddenness of her move nearly caught Bruce by surprise, but he rolled away on time, swiftly exchanging places with her on the circle they were drawing in the snow. He put his sword up again as she did.

The Amazon eyed him, clearly taking in his response.

This could work.

Bruce walked further around the circle, carefully keeping the lake’s location in mind. Positioned correctly, he took a defensive pose, feet solidly grounded, and sword held with both hands.

The invitation was obvious, and was Diana still fuming, she would not have taken it. Angry Diana would never have risked losing to a man that disgusted her as much as Bruce did by willingly walking into a trap. In fact, she would probably have gone for another move just to contradict him. Nonetheless, _this_ Diana was acting as a warrior defending her honour. For her, challenges were meant to be met and overcome.

For a second, he could have sworn he saw a smile on her face — but the next his breath was knocked from his lungs as she tackled him past her companions and the jet. They hit a small snow hill at the lake’s border, some of it collapsing on their heads.

Bruce pointedly ignored the snow that snuck into his back through his collar.

“Who's framing you, Wayne?” She asked him quietly, whispering in his ear as she held them in place with sheer force. Bruce could only see her cascade of snow sprinkled hair, but he was suddenly reminded of his Diana, and he could feel the genuine concern in her voice.

He almost laughed. Extending her hand to her enemies in the middle of a fight. Only her.

Instead, he kicked her in the stomach, freeing himself, and jumped onto the ice.

Diana tumbled in the air and straightened herself without landing.

“What are you fighting for?” She asked, keeping her voice low enough so the two others wouldn’t hear.

Bruce still didn’t reply. This wasn’t Red Speedy’s — what was Ollie  _thinking_ choosing such a ridiculous codename? — betrayed mother figure. This was Wonder Woman, and one had to think carefully before lying to her.

She lowered herself onto the ice, carefully, clearly fully aware it meant fighting on his grounds. Her sword remained at her side as she took a few steps forwards, still allowing a distance between the two of them.

“I've been hunting you down for weeks now,” she said, “and I‘ve fought you head on in the Watchtower. Amazons always teach that you learn more about your opponents than your allies; a sword swing never lies.”

“What did you learn then?” Bruce asked her, keeping his sword ready for battle.

“I've learnt that you’re smart and meticulous, and that if you want to disappear and start a new life, you can. Yet you don't. You let us hunt you erroneously. I’ve also noticed that the last time we fought, there were children in our hearts, and neither of us was willing to lose,” Diana simply said, “This time, we fight for ourselves, and neither of us is trying to win.”

“That doesn't make us allies,” Bruce reminded her.

“No,” she agreed with finality, “but it makes this fight meaningless. As such, I surrender.”

Having expected much more violence, Bruce narrowed his eyes skeptically, “You would probably have won this fight.”

“Maybe,” Diana smiled, “nonetheless, you forget what prompted this fight. You are no coward, Bruce Wayne, and I concede I was wrong to imply such. If we fight, we do so outside of Amazon tradition.”

Her warning was evident. There was a slight reprimand where Bruce had summoned Amazon sacred laws out of convenience, but it was nothing compared to the underlying threat of what was to come. If he chose to continue fighting instead of talking, then Zatara and Batson were welcome to join in. Diana had always preferred diplomacy to violence, but she wasn’t one to shy away from battle when it was required.

“That's quite a big change of heart,” Bruce pointed out warily.

“The Black Canary was caught three days ago,” she informed him, “after having been revealed to be one of your agents. Had she been under any form of mind control, my lasso would have broken it. Yet the loyalty she displayed for you was both admirable and true. Timothy also seemed to care a great deal for you, as did the heir of the League of Assassins, a crime lord from Gotham, and an average college student. None of these people are easily swayed, none of these people would normally agree on anything, but they answer to _you_. I wish to understand."

“You want to trust Tim,” Bruce realised. That kid just had a way to worm himself into other people’s hearts.

“He's my _son_ ,” she countered strongly, and God did he understand the feeling, “and Cassandra is my _friend_.”

Trust Diana to see a kindred soul where there was one. Instead of envy or jealousy, she found sympathy in the ties between Bruce, Cass and Tim. She wanted to see in Bruce what they saw, she wanted to find a friend where others would look for a rival.

Heh. Bruce had been right. Diana wasn’t one to let anger tie her down for too long.

Batson and Zatara were getting curious. There were far enough to be the size of his finger, but he didn’t want to risk it without the protection of Diana’s traditions.

“Let's spar,” he suggested. Diana cast a glance sideways, a glance to the ice, and nodded.

Their dance resumed. Their swords clashed again, but with no malicious intention.

“ _Okay, I’m here, and I have your way out_ ,” Misfit spoke in his ear.

“Cassandra will most likely escape as we speak,” Diana told him casually, “Captain Marvel was the only one at the Watchtower with the potential to stop her.”

“You're putting a lot of faith in us,” Bruce replied.

“I'm a simple woman,” Diana explained, “I either follow my heart or my duty, and my heart is telling me that blind anger is beneath me. There’s clearly something bigger at work here, and I will not be a pawn any longer.”

There was more to that. Diana always had a sixth sense, perhaps linked to her powers of truth, when it came to people. She could practically see into one’s soul, and it seemed she couldn’t convince herself that there was a monster behind Bruce’s eyes anymore, not without a fresh betrayal bleeding within.

“And if you’re wrong?”

“And if I’m right?”

This time, Bruce couldn’t help himself, he did chuckle. There was no end to Diana’s wisdom, nor was there any to her heart. This world was so cruel, making his friends so alike to their counterparts and yet erasing all relationship they had.

Still, he felt at ease around her.

Stephanie had said she found Diana to be different because she lacked a certain level of… control, or maybe royalty. And yes, it was true. Their Diana would never had tumbled down into a mad rage like this one had, but that was because their Diana wasn’t as close to humanity as this one was. Superman and Wonder Woman had switched places in this world. She walked amongst them, married to Oliver Queen, and living a family life, while Superman inspired them all, but remained eternally out of reach.

Perhaps this world wasn’t so bad after all. It was different, but not necessarily worst.

The cloud of relief he hadn’t been able to hold back wasn’t missed by the Amazon, who let a bit of tension go herself. They weren’t on opposing sides. Both of them knew that now.

“I’m a simple man as well, Diana,” he told her, “Everything I do, I do for what’s right. Everything I fight, I believe is wrong.”

“Like executing an innocent man,” Diana finished, “you should have told us. You’re —“ she gasped in realisation, “you won’t give us answers unless we work for them. You’re letting us make mistakes. You’re trying to teach us something.”

Bruce blinked, was that…?  Was that what he was doing? He had wanted to prove a point — and wasn’t that the same thing? He had been a mentor to many, had it really just become a subconscious part of him? Who knew taking in Dick would forge such a big part himself?

A father, Clark had said. A teacher, Diana was saying.

Bruce went for another power clash, and used the wall like stability of Diana’s sword to push himself far backwards.

“Now Misfit!” He hissed into his comm piece.

A cable suddenly appeared in thin air, pulling Zatara and Batson together.

“Say Hi to the old wizard Jazzdamb for me!” Someone chirped as they hastily tightened the cable, taking advantage of how startled the two were.

“His name is _SHAZAM_ — oh no I really shouldn’t have said that.”

**_CRACK!_ **

The lightening hit both Batson and Zatara violently, making the older one lose consciousness, and both of them freefall too fast for Batson to change back. Diana rushed to catch them mid air.

The three Justice Leaguers turned towards Bruce again, only to be met with —

“Is that an iceberg between us and Wayne?” the ten year old asked, “When did it get here?"

Diana glared at the girl in black leather finger gunning at them from the foot of the iceberg, before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

“Catgirl,” she sighed tiredly.

Diana placed Batson and Zatara to the ground, before circling the massive chunk of ice Catgirl had teleported from God knew where. But it was too late — there was no sign of Wayne behind the ice mountain. There was no way he could have gotten too far in the middle of the North Pole, and yet Diana had the feeling he was already long out of her reach.

“Let's go back,” she told Batson, who Shazamed back in form and flew to where the jet had been left.

Diana grabbed Zatara’s unconscious body and followed right behind Captain Marvel. They made it to where the jet was leaving indents in the snow, and Batson went straight for the entrance… and then continued flying straight, much to his confusion.

Diana’s eyes narrowed.

“Stealing my invisible jet… Bold move, Wayne.”

Looks like she was going to have to continue chasing him to get to the bottom of this story.

* * *

“Two _pommes au fromage de chèvre et au miel,_ with nuts,” Jason smirked, moving stiffly in his stolen waiter uniform which was two sizes too small. He placed two delicious looking plates on the table.

Grayson grabbed his hand before he could retrieve it completely. The owner of the suit the older of the two wore was passed out in a cubicle with an underdressed waiter, but still he managed to wear it as if it had been tailored made for him. It was ridiculous. The man was simply incapable of looking bad. Though to be fair, for all the physical class he had, he did not look particularly at home in this expensive restaurant.

His tinder date had gone to the bathroom, and everyone else was much too preoccupied with their own frivolity to pay attention to the waiter and patron whispering to each other.

“I swear to God Jason, if this is a joke…” Grayson threatened.

“Batman's orders,” Jason assured him.

“First we hire Rose Wilson — who by the way you had failed to mention is the frickin’ _Deathstroke_ of this world — to steal a bunch of otters from the zoo, only to put them in another zoo, then we mow Floyd fucking Lawton’s lawn and babysit his daughter for an afternoon, and then we forge a fake birth certificate for David Cain so he can claim Hungarian nationality and give him a figurine of the Hungarian horntail from Harry Potter _as an extra_? What are we? The marketing division?”

They had spent the last few days running from the law, Luthor’s men, and doing a bunch of odd jobs Bruce had assigned them. The funny thing was, those were word for word his orders. Grayson hadn’t been too keen on most jobs, but they saw them through efficiently enough. If anything, Rose Wilson, Floyd Lawton, and David Cain were just as confused as Nightwing, and that made everything worth it.

“You forgot about Gorilla Grodd.”

“Do _not_ get me started on Gorilla Grodd!” Grayson hissed, “If Charlie hadn’t confirmed it, I wouldn’t believe this is what Bruce wants us to do!”

“The man works in mysterious ways,” Jason shrugged. The look Grayson gave him in exchange was not impressed, “Don't you have a date to ace?”

“Don’t remind me,” Grayson grimaced, “Seduce _her_? _Really_? Let me talk to Bruce."

“He's busy,” Jason said, keeping the Misfit-signal out of the other’s reach.

“So you keep saying. I’m beginning to think he’s avoiding me.”

“He's been trying to get rid of you from the start, Dickiebird, you’re just starting to notice now.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Shhhh, your date’s coming back,” Jason sprang back straight and Dick finished grumbling as quickly as he could.

“Is that a gun she’s holding?”

Out of reflex, Grayson kicked the table upwards to use as shield, and Jason joined him behind it. They could run, but then the bullets directed at them had the potential of hurting the other patrons and waiters who were panicking and getting out in mass.

The date in question had indeed returned from the bathroom with an army of men and a gun of her own.

“Really?” Grayson glared at Jason, as if blaming him for the idea, “Katarina Armstrong? The _Spy Smasher_?”

“She's not the _original_ one — ow!”

The older vigilante did not apologise for slapping Jason’s shoulder.

“Important questions first,” Grayson decided over the sound of bullets whizzing past, “she wouldn’t try to kill me unless she knew I was Nightwing. How did she figure out I was Nightwing?”

“Probably the same way Luthor’s men keep finding us,” Jason muttered, “It's been a week and we’ve ran into them four times already. It’s like they know where we are all the time.”

Jason picked up a butter knife that was sitting on the floor at their feet. Grayson stopped him.

“Let’s not pick a fight with the Spy Smasher and her army of super spies,” he reasoned, “focus on getting out alive instead.”

“Scared I’ll get hurt?” Jason teased. Grayson didn’t take it as a joke.

“Look, you seem to be on better terms with B right now,” the older of the two said, “there's no way in hell I’m letting you come close to dying.”

“I really don’t need mother-hening from a guy who’s subconsciously suicidal,” Jason deadpanned, “worst case, I die. You guys dealt with it before. How bad can it be?”

He could see it now. The second there was someone else he was responsible for, Nightwing went full Batman.

“You _can’t_ die, Jason.” Grayson told him forcefully, ignoring the suicide part of Jason’s jab, “You weren’t there — You have no idea. It _destroyed_ him. Losing his parents made him sacrifice his life to Batman, but losing _you_ … He shut himself down, Jason. He closed his heart. Happiness was never his priority but after you died… It was like he was afraid of it. He used to have a sense of self, do you remember?”

Of course he did. Bruce had always been strict and meticulously rigorous. Even his occasional arrogance and contempt was nothing new. But the Bruce Jason had met, while bitter about his nestling flying off on his own, hadn’t been afraid to smile. He’d still wear the cowl as if it was a mask, and only a mask, and he’d remove it the second they were back in the cave. Bruce had willingly dragged Jason into this life — but it seemed everyone who had come afterwards had had to harass him to stay. The walls used to be only for criminals and civilians, not for family.

“It doesn’t matter what others say, what he thinks himself,” Dick continued, “Batman was never for revenge. Batman was for justice. It was something he believed in. But now… Now, he wears the cowl like a shroud. His war against crime has become a penance rather than a crusade. It’s become an obligation when it started off as a dream project. You can’t die again. You can’t let him drown further. It changes him.”

_It changes him._

The penny dropped. _Bruce you hypocritical ass_ , Jason thought.

“Grayson,” Jason reminded him, “why the _fuck_ are you telling me this?”

Grayson blinked, “you asked me—“

“ _A_ , it was rhetorical,” Jason stressed, “and _B_ , since when do _you_ need a _reason_ to _save_ someone’s life?”

Grayson blinked, confused. He seemed not to understand the point at first, but it quickly became evident that he just couldn’t find the answer.

Nightwing his ass. Grayson had spent _months_ under the cowl. He was supposed to be the human one, the sensible Bat. Yet here he was, finding excuses to justify every single one of his actions, when a simple ‘ _I care_ ’ would have been both earnest and enough. It was such a Bruce thing to do, trying to rationalise everything because feelings were not valid arguments.

That’s what Jason’s death had turned Batman into. A black hole that swallowed people’s selves, until they stopped mattering altogether. Batman watched over everyone, but put him in front of a mirror, and he would see no reflection there.

Grayson’s eyes suddenly widening told Jason he had arrived to the same conclusion.

“I’m… I’m not—” he stammered.

It suddenly made sense though. Why Jason had to rescue him. Why he’d been so reckless to need rescuing.

The idiot couldn’t even fucking remember _how_ to be Nightwing. He’d gone so out of his way to subconsciously de-Batmanize himself, that he’d swung too far out. He’d lost himself in the cowl, and he was having trouble finding his way back.

A shot flew over their heads.

“We need to go,” Grayson decided, leaving his problems hanging as per Bat-tradition.

Jason could have pressed him further, but he knew it wasn’t the answer. Dickhead had dismissed it too quickly; he’d noticed it before, it was nothing new. He seemed almost resigned, and there, that eerie acceptance, was why Jason would never be half as good as Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson had never wanted to be Batman. He had known what it would most likely do to him. He, more than anyone, had watched Bruce slowly drown in the cowl. And he, more than anyone, had feared becoming anything like Bruce. 

But he’d still done it. He had walked head first into Hell and offered the Devil his soul without question.

Dick Grayson loved nothing more than flying free, and yet he repeatedly accepted the weight of the world. For perhaps the first time, Jason didn’t feel a shred of envy for the older vigilante.

* * *

“The Spy Smasher, Dick?” Barbara frowned, “ _Really_? You usually have better taste than that.”

Barbara could feel the headache coming. It was a good sign, she guessed tiredly, if they were involving the Spy Smasher. She had, after all, been a real pain in the ass back home for Oracle. It made sense to get in touch with one of her main enemies. It meant they were taking her threat seriously. But still, did Dick really have to take her out on a date? And how the hell had they gotten matched on Tinder?

Barbara hooked herself to the Tinder servers, to retrace the match. Like her, her counterpart had a backdoor into all the popular apps, and it wasn’t too hard to — wait. She had accessed that backdoor? Four days ago? That was it — they’d used her own, personal, private network. And there was only one person who had access to that other than Barbara in this world.

Barbara smiled. If it was the other Oracle, then she didn’t have to tell Luthor. God, loopholes were amazing. _You’re going to regret making me your enemy,_ she had told him at the very beginning. No one outsmarted the real Oracle.

Still, Dick and _Katarina_? Not cool, guys.

It wasn’t the weirdest thing either. Everything Dick and Jason were doing was puzzling her into madness. There was no pattern to it, no sense, no actual benefit, the only common point was the clients they made — Oh.

“Deathstroke, Deadshot, Gorilla Grodd, David Cain, and now the _Spy Smasher_?” Barbara mumbled, “Oh no. This is actually a good idea. Dammit Bruce you have to be less obvious!”

Of course, she said that, but it had taken a week to figure it out.

“I’m guessing the Checkmate tag has brought us some valuable information?” Luthor guessed, appearing over her shoulder and looking at her screens. She could feel the heat from his body. She hated when people did that.

“He’s creating a network,” Barbara revealed reluctantly, “All these people are smart, skilled, and have a lot of contacts in the underworld. He’s getting in touch with the best, and all people that can be bargained with. At this rate he's going to have his own Justice League.”

“Looks like you were right about these two,” Luthor hummed, “they really are Wayne’s elite agents.”

Of course they were. Dick, Jason, and Barbara were slightly different from the rest of the Bat brood. They had known Bruce before… Before Jason had died. They had seen what was at his core, and more importantly, they knew how he _thought_. If Bruce had a guarantee that Jason wasn’t going to betray them (being trapped in an alternative universe being a pretty big one) than these three were his best bets as lieutenants. And with Barbara blackmailed to work for the other side…

Bruce didn’t trust people easily. He was a control freak of the first order. He always needed to know what his soldiers were doing, and he always needed them to be doing what he told them to. But if there was anyone he trusted to do be good enough on their own (pretty hard when Bruce never thought he was good enough himself) and to make the right choices, it was the three of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Tim has a surreal conversation with a fake god, Bruce is getting too predictable and probably needs an intervention because this is becoming a serious problem, and Zach probably needs twenty different kinds of therapy. Weirdly, no one is on drugs.


	22. Strange encounters... Like very strange. College is a weird time for everyone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim meets Tim. Selina Kyle's nails meets Booster Gold's force field. Dick and Jason meet the Midnighter and Apollo. Zach meets a fat Catman. It s always fun to make new friends :)

There were a few things Tim always expected when he woke up. The first was surprise — and oh good, nothing made sense. At least this was consistent with experience.

Okay, but seriously.

Tim was driving the Redbird, and he knew for a fact that the Redbird didn’t exist in one piece anymore. Not in his world, and certainly not in this one. Besides, it was almost like he didn’t even have control over his body neck down. Or rather, it was like breathing. As long as he didn’t think about it, his arms moved mechanically, guiding the vehicle smoothly around the strange city he was in. He didn’t know where they were leading him to. He didn’t even know what this city was.

There were tall buildings, very reminiscent of Gotham, but the gargoyles atop of them were alive, following the Redbird with their eyes, and the signal in the sky was replaced with an arrowhead. A tall T-shaped tower loomed in the horizon, always in the same spot on its line, at 11 o’clock from Tim, always at the same distance from him.

The sky was an eerie green as the sun’s last ray burnt down behind the skyline, and there wasn’t a single soul in sight in the whole city.

Who had he pissed off this time? Scarecrow? Poison Ivy?

“Giovani Zatara more likely,” Tim said, but it wan’t him.

There was another Tim standing in the passenger seat next to him, in casual clothes. He had shorter hair, a stupid hat, and a red quiver on his lap.

Tim bundled all his current thoughts and feelings in a single “What.”

“Can I have my body back now?” Other Tim asked, both snidely and without much hope. He seemed resigned to being the backseat driver of this life.

“You're Red _Speedy_ ,” Tim realised.

“And you’re Red _Robin_ ,” other Tim confirmed snidely. Tim glanced at his own chest. He was in his Red Robin uniform, cowl off, sleeved rolled up, and a pair of sneakers on his feet instead of his boots.

The way they had spoken each other’s name showed what exactly they thought of them. Ridiculous and redundant.

“…Fair,” Tim conceded. He made a mental note to call himself Robin and the other Speedy in his mind at least. “So what is this place?”

“A mash up of our inner mind spaces is my guess,” Speedy replied with a shrug, “I've been stuck here for a month and a half. You don’t usually react to me.”

A month and a half. That was how long Tim had been in this world.

No wonder Speedy seemed so frustrated, and angry. Yet there was an underlying languidness in his resentment, as if he had already tried struggling and only succeeded in tiring himself out. That was because he had.

Tim frowned. That wasn’t his thought.

“We can hear each other’s thoughts in here,” Speedy informed him, “I've been watching what you’ve been doing with my life, and with my friends.”

Robin remained quiet, uncertain of what to say to that. He had messed quite a bit with his life, hadn’t he?

“It's _infuriating_ not to be able to do anything,” Speedy confessed, “to have to watch an imposter take your place, tricking your friends, and no being able to warn them. It’s _humiliating_ to be replaced by someone who seems so much better at being a hero. And it’s incredibly _hurtful_ to know that no one has noticed you were someone else for a whole fucking month.”

“I'm sorry,” Robin sincerely apologised, and he knew the feeling would come across.

He also knew what Speedy was really feeling. He’d felt it himself before. Losing faith in the people he cared about and receiving in exchange an unsatisfiable desire to prove himself worthy. Robin wasn’t bringing Speedy’s self worth down, he was fuelling his motivation. But that road had led Tim down a dark path, and he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t do the same for Speedy.

“I know,” Speedy sighed, “I know you’re sorry, and I know what happened to you. Any memory you recalled, I saw. I… I envy your skills, Robin, I won’t lie. But I won’t become you.”

Robin snorted. He felt exactly the same about Batman. Speedy smiled at that. At least they agreed.

“Why isn’t your seatbelt on?” Robin asked him, disapprovingly.

“ _That's_ what you want to know?” Speedy scoffed.

“It's not safe,” Robin told him with a shrug. “So why am I only meeting you in our shared headspace _now_?” he asked, “It's not like I haven’t been sleeping or unconscious before.”

“That's because Giovanni got fried with powerful magic and I dragged you inside your head with me.”

Robin and Speedy both jumped into defensive stances - the car still driving itself. Raven had appeared behind them them, her black cloak blending into smoke at its edges. To be honest, she probably hadn’t actually appeared, but been there all along. She did look quite settled, leaning against the backseat, arms and legs crossed. She paid no mind to their reactions. She had her seatbelt on.

Tim could already tell she was nothing like his Raven. His Raven positioned herself more humbly. Also, his Raven didn’t wear anime shirts.

“Timothy,” she greeted, deadpan, “and Timothy.”

“Raven?” Speedy gaped, “What are you doing here?”

“Taking advantage of Giovanni’s temporary weakness to talk to you,” she simply said, “He’s cast a spell to keep my magic and I trapped in my house, and he’s surveilling people going in an out of my house very closely, so he can mind wipe them afterwards.”

“First Zach, now you?” Speedy frowned. Tim noticed the guilt building up in Speedy’s chest. “We all knew Zach and his dad had a pretty bad relationship but… Is there anyone else Giovanni has screwed over that we should know about?” But now he also knew that his friend had been desperate for help, and that they had all ignored his desperate calls, though not out of choice.

“Ugh. Please stop it with the overdramatic self-blaming thing,” Raven grimaced, “You’re a guy with a bow. What in Azar’s name do you think you could have done against one of the most powerful Homo Magi on Earth?.”

Yes. Make the guy feel even more incompetent. Good therapy.

“The only ones with a chance against Giovani are the Coven of Three, but they’re going to need a few years to reach his level,” Raven continued, “and also two of them have already been captured. Also Zachary’s about to do something really stupid. We are not off to a good start.”

“I kind of got that,” Robin flatly said.

“That’s why I brought you to this world.”

She had spoken casually, as if discussing the weather.

“You — I thought Zach said it was Barbatros,” Robin frowned.

“Yes, well Zach and the rest of the Coven happen to be comically gullible, and Zatanna unfortunately meddlesome,” Raven sighed, partly irritated, “she’s the only one who had my circle, and she gave it to them without even saying what it was for,” Raven shook her head ruefully, “I presented myself as some ridiculous god _sarcastically_ and they _bought_ it, the idiots. I kind of just rolled with it afterwards.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Robin deadpanned, at the same time as Speedy deplored “Oh my God this is ridiculous.”

“Still, I suppose I must be thankful they were powerful enough to tear a sliver of myself through Giovanni’s spell,” Raven conceded with a head tilt, “there was little to do during my seclusion than let my soul wander through different planes, and meet my selves from other dimension.”

Raven’s eyes landed on Tim, and he immediately knew what that look meant.

“You met our Raven,” he concluded.

“She worries for you,” Raven revealed, a hint of actual softness in her voice, as if she spoke for counterpart, “all of you Bats, especially the ones at the core of your makeshift family. She believes you’re too comfortable with the authority that symbol grants you in your world, that you’re starting to become arrogant, judgemental instead of just. But above all, she thinks that your Crest has become your shackle. The legacy and myths behind your symbol are tall achievements to live up to, and your desperation to do so is stripping you of what makes you people. Your hearts bleed with hope, but you’re all forcing yourselves to act with cynicism. It’s time to remember what exactly made the Bat what it is in your world, and how it became so powerful it's turned on its own makers… Her words, not mine.”

“God forbid anyone thinks you care,” Speedy snorted derisively.

Robin was in no mood to joke, not even in a mean way. Raven, _their_ Raven, had sent them here? What, as a punishment?

“So everything about the balance of the world—“ he started, agitated.

“Is true,” other Raven insisted, “The Coven did have a prophetic dream. They summoned me for help, and you were the help I provided. From what my other self said, if anyone can solve this world’s problem it is you Bats. If there was anyone capable of such here, we wouldn’t have fallen so far. Plus, it’ll get my other self off my back. I can only take so many months of her worrying about you. Two Robins with one stone and all that. I personally do not care if you resolve your own issues, get this world back on track, and I’ll send you back.”

Nothing had changed. The job was still the same. But still. Raven was their — Tim considered Raven a friend, and he knew at least Dick thought the same. They’d helped her against her father, and now this?

He felt like a child unjustly sent to some disciplinarian summer camp.

“We'll do the job,” Tim assured Raven, “it's what we do,” 'but we’re not going to do it happy' went unspoken, but not any less heard.

Raven’s shoulders lowered slightly, and Tim realised she had feared he’d respond otherwise.

“Why tell me?” He asked.

“I may be snide at times, Timothy,” she replied, earnest, “but I am an empath. I can recognise good souls where they are, and I believe you and your family are at least owed the truth.”

“But why now?” Tim asked, frustrated, “Why wait? I know you’ve met with Dick before.”

“It would ruin the purpose if you knew to early,” the sorceress responded, almost like it was an obvious conclusion, “you are misunderstanding your Raven’s intentions. She does not mean to make you suffer—“

“Well it sure as hell feels like it!” Robin snapped.

“Robin—“ Speedy tried interjecting.

“Do you even realise what these weeks have been like for us? Not just physically — _emotionally_?” He continued, seething, “I mean, ‘purpose'? This is not a fucking game! It’s not some piece of code with good timing that outputs whatever crap in the end! This is real, and what you've made us go through, what you’ve made Damian go through, and Bruce, and — and — It could have gone badly on so many different levels!”

“But it didn’t,” Raven forcefully replied, not intimidated the least by Tim’s rage, “you're still alive. You’re still standing.”

“We're holding by the skin of our necks,” he hissed back, ignoring another call from Speedy, “you put us in a world where we have _nothing_ , no allies, no _knowledge_ , you’ve stripped us from everything we’ve built!"

“Mind your tone,” Raven warned him, “and _think_ for a change. My counterpart and I have taken _nothing_ from you, Timothy, and maybe it’s time for you to realise that.” Raven levitated herself slightly, and her cloak curled protectively around her, “I came here out of courtesy, I have no mind to stay for your whining.”

Her eyes flashed silver.

Before Tim could get another word in, the world turned black once more.

* * *

Diana stepped out of the teleporter, Giovanni in her arms. Billy’s thunder seemed to have given him minor burns. It was nothing his own magic wouldn’t compensate for, but she still felt more at ease leaving him in the med bay, at least until he woke up. Billy had volunteered to watch over him, out of guilt mostly, but it was a school night, and Diana didn’t want him to skip. She sent him straight to Faucet city after their encounter with Wayne.

She walked through the corridors of the Watchtower, only to bump into a panicking Cyborg.

“Wonder Woman, thank God!” He gasped, “I was going to get the other Titans to come back here because I don’t know how to handle this and I’ll be honest it’s kinda freaking me out not like we're gonna die freaking me out but more like Japanese horror movie freaking me out ‘cause man that shit’s twisted as fu—“

“Calm down, Victor,” Diana tried soothing him, placing an strong hand on his shoulder. The half-man, half-machine took a deep breath. “Did Cassandra escape?”

“Cass — Oh yeah, that too,” he confirmed.

“That… _too_ ,” she repeated. That did not bode well.

“Roy probably as well, come to think of it,” Victor pondered, clearly not that worried about it, “but there are more pressing matters!”

Cyborg dashed back the way he came, and Diana followed him urgently. Giovani’s injuries could wait.

He lead her all the way to the cafeteria, where Diana found every person present in the Watchtower trying to mediate the situation, a few tables and chairs overturned in the middle. Dinah and Cassandra were both holding on to each other as they watched the scene in front of them, and Booster Gold was keeping a shield around the problem in question.

Selina Kyle.

Catwoman.

“Stand where I can see you you manipulative bitch!”

Who was looking completely mad — and not necessarily in an angry way. She was furiously scratching at the forcefield, drawing blood from her own hands and screaming incomprehensible insults to no one in particular. Her eyes were wide, and yet it seemed as if she wasn’t seeing any one around her. Because if she could, she would have stopped the second her eyes had landed on Cassandra.

Diana had never seen the young woman like that, but she seemed almost _afraid_.

“Michael—“ Diana started.

“Don’t,” Booster Gold interrupted her uncharacteristically rudely, “don’t ask me anything. Please. I just got back, and nothing makes sense, and apparently the whole JSA is dead, and Ted is dead, and I’ve only been gone for two fucking months and everyone’s asking why I’m not in a coma. Let me focus on this. Please.”

This, he knew. Weird situations, a friend gone mad, it seemed like it was something he preferred facing to the fact that his whole life had crumbled. Diana could understand. Michael was definitely one of those who’d lost the most in recent events, and he’d had to learn everything at once, not too long ago either. They'd had over a month to get used to it, but it was bleeding raw for him.

Cassandra took a hesitant step towards the light bubble, slowly raising both arms in a ‘stop' gesture, She looked like she was trying to tame a wild tiger, but Diana could easily recognise the palor to her skin. This was bringing back unpleasant memories for the girl. Nothing else could shake the Black Canary so badly, especially not a raging Justice League member that she could beat with her eyes closed and a hand tied behind her back.

She was brave to attempt it nonetheless.

“Catwoman,” she said, trying to get her attention.

But the woman wouldn’t listen. She was grumbling to herself. “The door is locked. The door is locked.” She retreated from the golden wall, and placed her hands on her head, before wailing out a terrifying, throat tearing screech. Everyone around her recoiled.

“She just went crazy, in the middle of lunch,” Cyborg told Diana, “we don’t know what to do. Black Canary popped out form nowhere and saved Dinah when she first swiped but…”

“It's me, Catwoman,” Cassandra was saying, quietly, “Black Bat.”

“Bat!” Catwoman snapped, “I won’t tell you who he is! The door is _locked_! _GET OUT OF MY HEAD BITCH!_ ”

“She's in pain,” Cassandra told Diana, and she knew the older woman must have seen it too. “Help her.”

“The door is locked?” Dinah repeated, “That’s… I know what this is. It’s a League of Assassin mind technique they teach to keep secrets under coercion!”

“How would Selina know it?” Victor frowned, “The League doesn’t operate in Gotham.”

“Zatanna.”

They all froze as Selina spoke that name, eyes suddenly landing on Giovanni’s passed out body.

There were a few seconds of silence, a few seconds where Diana hoped the name had anchored Selina to reality.

Unfortunately, the opposite happened.

“Face me Zatanna you bitch!” She suddenly yelled, lashing out at the golden force field once more, “I told I’d kill you if I saw your face again!”

The words hardened Diana’s heart to stone instantaneously. Could Selina have…? She had never shown any reason to hate Zatanna before.

“It's not her,” Cassandra told her, placing her forehead on the force field, “it's not Zatanna.”

But Selina wasn’t listening. She let out another scream of rage before slamming her shoulder against the golden cage.

“Zatanna is dead,” Cassandra insisted, but her voice was too quiet next to Selina’s shrieks.

“If what Dinah says is right,” Diana told them, shaking off the shock of seeing Selina act with so little dignity, “then she must be fighting against a mental attack. Maybe if we can find the one causing these attacks…”

She placed Giovanni on one of the tables.

Selina recoiled once more, squeezing her head in her hands. She took a few wobbly steps back, completely disoriented.

“Selina,” Diana spoke up, stepping up next to Cassandra. The young woman seemed so small when they stood close, and Selina Kyle wasn’t that much taller than her. “Who is hurting you?”

“Zatanna,” Selina breathed out, “Zatanna. Zatanna. Zatanna. Zatar—“

“Selina, she’s dead.”

Catwoman looked up, lost. She had scratch marks and tear tracks on her cheeks, and her gloves were caked in blood. She was going mad, but Wonder Woman’s words were always hard to ignore.

She frowned, “She’s… dead?” Her eyes trailed to Cassandra, “you’re… _blonde_.”

A wave of exhaustion took over the woman, and she fell to her knees, shoulders slumped. Her breath was heavy, and her eyes glassy.

“Let us help you,” Diana told her softly, placing a gently hand on the force field. First Oliver and his traitor hunt. Then Wayne and his games. And now Selina. It was like no one ever asked for help anymore, or at least, no one ever asked Diana. Too many things were happening to her friends behind her back; it wasn’t normal.

“I won’t let her win,” Selina told her, weakly, but with no less determination behind her words. There was a fire in her eyes, one Diana didn’t like one bit. It was pure anger. “I made myself a promise. I will _never_ let anyone mess with my mind again."

* * *

Dick and Jason collapsed on the sofa simultaneously. This wasn’t their apartment. They weren’t entirely sure who’s apartment it was, actually. But it was empty, and they needed a place to crash, and it had been just there. It was shitty and humid and small and kind of dirty, but they’d both been through worse.

Luthor’s men had found them, _again_ , and it really didn’t help that because of the Spy Smasher, all the intelligence agencies in the US were now on their tail as well. Life on the run was not fun. Dick wondered how Jason coped with it back at home. Granted, it was nowhere as extreme, but Jason was still a murderer and a criminal… and someone who’d saved his ass from Luthor.

It wasn’t exactly the first time they worked together. Jason had helped the Outsiders once before, after all. And before dying, he’d been such a sweet little brat as well.

It made Dick feel a bit guilty about treating him with so much suspicion, but not guilty enough to stop. He couldn’t just go along with his first instincts and improvise when things turn to shit anymore. Jason had nearly killed to of his brothers, and his body count was off the charts. He was a dangerous man. He couldn’t allow him to —

The door opened, and two young men came in. They were approximatively Jason’s age, one with brown, almost ginger hair, and the other a blond greek sculpture of a man.

They stared at the two intruders.

A bag of groceries dropped to the floor.

“Uhm,” Blondie said, awkwardly.

“This is going to sound weird,” Dick said, too tired to even get up, “but please don’t kick us out.”

“Aren't you two the guys on TV?” the other one asked.

“Which answer is not going to get us kicked out?” Dick tried.

“Depends, how are your cooking skills?"

“UHM,” Blondie insisted, this time looking at his friend like he had grown a second head.

“Relax Apollo,” the smaller of the two dismissed, “they look dead on their feet. That one’s even bleeding. Is one of you any good with Computers? I have a deadline tomorrow morning and it’ll go faster with more people.”

“We both know standard…” Dick hesitated, “decryption algorithms, and our teacher made sure we knew at least one programming language rock solid. I went with Python.”

“I do Java,” Jason piped in.

“Decryption — Hacking. They totally only know how to hack. Oh my god they’re definitely criminals,” Apollo breathed at once, “are you serious, Luke?”

Luke shrugged, “They’re already here, might as well. Besides, I’m desperate.”

Jason frowned, “Are you two…?”

Apollo’s mouth thinned in a line. His eyes narrowed, “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Nah,” Jason told them earnestly, “just didn’t want to make assumptions. I noticed you guys had some Balzaac, is that for college or fun?”

Dick recognised this kind of tactic. It was always useful to make the other party feel comfortable by moving the conversation to their interests… Except, it wasn’t the case. Jason was genuinely interested. He’d been eyeing the books on the shelves from the beginning, and Dick knew that if his muscles weren’t so sore from all the action, he’d have picked on up.

Little Jason had loved books as well. He had been Alfred’s pride and joy. It shouldn’t have surprised Dick, but it had. Because all he saw when he thought of Jason nowadays was a trained crime lord, and crime lords didn’t indulge in innocent hobbies like reading.

“Both,” Apollo replied, “I study French Literature. You a fan?”

“Wasn’t too into French books until a recent friend of mine made me read them. I definitely prefer _La Comédie Humaine_ to the _Rougon-Macquart_ , but I’m more of a Maupassant kind of guy.”

Huh. No wonder he’d seem so at ease in a French restaurant. Jason had friends with whom he discussed his interests apparently. Jason could talk to Bruce without snapping at him. Jason could help Steph get crap out of her hair.

Jason was acting more human than Dick.

Luke closed the door behind him, and picked up the bag of groceries. 

“Luke,” Apollo chided.

“I haven’t slept in two days, Apollo,” Luke replied, looking at his boyfriends dead in the eye, “I'm moving by sheer force of will and caffeine overdose. This assignments counts in my final grade. The deadline is tomorrow. I don’t care if they’ve killed your mother, they’re gonna help me figure out why my code keeps printing bullshit results.”

“You could have just not procrastinated a whole month away,” Apollo pointed out.

“That's not how college works,” Luke replied, as if Apollo was the weird one, “make some space on the sofa boys, I’m going to give you a quick run down of the situation. I’m Lucas, by the way.”

“Jason.”

“Dick.”

“Please tell me this is a joke,” Apollo deadpanned. He sighed when all three turned to him expectantly, “Fine. I’m Apollo. I’ll, huh, make tea or something like that.”

“You’re the best, hun.”

* * *

It was perfect, Zach marvelled as he took a step back to admire his work. Merging two spells into one was always a delicate thing, but he’d done it, and it was perfect. The two circles overlapped each other perfectly, with the right symbols tweaked at the right places. It wasn’t like he had a choice anyways. If he’d done them separately, then he wouldn’t have been able to cast both.

Perhaps a better location would have been preferable, but Zach wasn’t choosy. He needed mirrors, and a public bathroom’s mirrors suited him just fine. He felt a bit guilty for the janitors who would uncover his vandalism in the morning, but at least he was certain no one would interrupt him here, not at a mall way after closing hours.

He told himself that lipstick on mirror wasn’t too hard to clean. It wasn’t the worst damage his spell would cause, sure, but all that would come after he’d started.

“ _Nug_ ,” he spoke, and a gun appeared in his hand.

He grasped it.

He had never held one before, he realised. He’d never needed one before. With all the magic at his disposal, it felt almost vulgar.

He looked up again, and his heart almost stopped. There was a shadow behind him.

Out of reflex, Zach swung around, and found himself pointing the gun at whatever the thing behind him was. 

It was entirely pointless as it turned out.

A large hand grabbed the barrel of the gun and used it to twist Zach’s arm upwards, and then behind his back, forcing him to release the gun with a small cry of pain. Then, with its feet, the figure kicked the gun back upwards so he could catch it smoothly.

It didn’t attack Zach further.

It didn’t need to.

Zach could see it in the way he held himself. His knees weren’t bent like Tim’s were when he prepared himself to lunge. His eyes’ weren’t glimpsing behind him, searching for danger. Instead, he was standing casually, gaze almost lazily set on Zach. He didn’t see Zach as a danger, and that very confidence — not the broad shoulders, or the icy blue eyes, or the towering height — told Zach that that was a man to fear.

The man didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

Only his hands remembered that time flowed. His fingers moved around the gun expertly, taking it apart without pause. The chunks of metal fell to the floor rhythmically, and with his eyes still on Zach, it was almost as if they were expressing his own disappointment. And Dammit, Tim had been right. Zach didn’t even know the man and his disappointment was _devastating_.

The last bit fell, and the man crossed his arms.

“Where's Tim?”

Straight to the point.

“How did you find me?” Zach threw back, his voice way more shaky than he had intended it to be.

Bruce Wayne paused, assessing Zach. For a few painful seconds, that’s all he did.

“Meet Thomas Blake,” he finally said, tilting his head towards the bathroom’s entrance, where another man was leaning against the doorframe, looking unsure as to what he was still doing here. He had sandy blond hair, and quite an impressive beer gut. “He's a PI. Best tracker in the world. Even I can’t hide from him.”

Spoken from experience. Someone whose counterpart he knew from his world, then.

Zach released a bit of tension, “Lucky the League doesn’t know about him. You’d have been screwed from the start.”

“Can I go now?” Thomas Blake asked, “I don’t really want to be seen associating with you, Wayne.”

Bruce Wayne gave a nod, and the man was gone.

“He will work for anyone given the right price,” Wayne continued, even though Zach had never asked, “as long as it doesn’t involve explicitly breaking a very strong set of morals he has. With the right push, he could even be a hero.”

Zach didn’t say anything in reply. He didn’t know what to say to that. Okay? Cool? Interesting? I really don’t care please go away?

A heavy silence settled instead.

“What's going on with you?” Wayne finally asked, nothing in his voice to indicate his intentions.

“Look, you just want to know where Tim is, right?” Zach bargained, “I'll tell you—“

“There was only one person in the room you could have used that gun on,” Wayne interrupted, warning him to stay on topic. And Zach was having trouble understanding why this conversation was making him feel so guilty. It was almost like Wayne was angry at him for what he was doing, which made absolutely no sense, because Wayne didn’t know him, and Wayne already had a son to worry about.

“Zachary.”

Zach felt cornered. 

“It's the only way,” he told him defensively.

“It's the easy way,” Wayne chided.

It was his enormous pride that kept his chin from falling to the floor. The gall Wayne had to imply that — Fuck this. Zach didn’t know the man. He didn’t have to suffer his opinion!

“You think I _want_ to die?” He spat, incredulous and angry.

“I think you’re not trying very hard not to.”

“If there’s another way, I’m all ears!”

Wayne didn’t have a quick comeback to that, and Zach took the opportunity to continue.

“If I don’t hand myself in to Giovanni, he will kill Tim,” he told him, looking at him dead in the eyes, “if I hand myself in to Giovanni, he will have absolute control over magic, and he will use it for his own personal gain. I won’t let an innocent person die, and I won’t let my whole world get screwed over by that asshole. If I had to chose, one life isn’t worth the whole world — _If_. I don’t. There’s a better solution.”

Zach gestured against the circle on the mirror, “Two transactions. My magic to bring you all back to your world. My life, to take Giovanni’s.”

“I thought you didn’t have a solution to our problem,” Wayne carefully stated.

“We always had a way to brute force your return, but it meant sacrificing a soul per person,” Zach informed him, “my magic is worth twenty souls, easy. But you were the one who wanted to stay on topic, so let’s stay on topic. _Nug_.”

Another gun appeared, and Zach offered it to Wayne.

“If you insist on letting me live, I will do everything in my power to prevent Giovanni from getting his hands on me, and Tim, _your son_ , will die,” he said, challenging the older man, “or you can take the gun and save your whole family, as well as our whole world from the grip of a madman. My death _ruins_ his plans.”

Wayne eyed the gun warily, and slowly took it from Zach’s hand. His fingers slid against the safety of the gun and —

Wayne looked him in the eyes.

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

Oh for fuck’s sake—

Zach watched as its last limb joined the carcass of its brother on the tiled bathroom floor.

“You _could_ just say no,” he reproached, looking at his dismantled conjuration. Now he needed to conjure another gun.

“I feel it wouldn't quite express how dumb I believe the idea to be,” Wayne replied, completely serious.

“So that’s it?” Zach scoffed in disbelief, “That’s how much Tim means to you? Unbelievable. All fathers are the same.”

“There's a third option,” the older man informed him, seemingly unbothered by his jab, “everyone lives, Giovanni goes to jail, we restore balance to the world, and everyone goes back to where they belong.”

What.

“That… That is not how things work,” Zach, too confused to be angry, enunciated. He suddenly felt like he was speaking to a six year old who still believed they would marry a dragon and have sixteen kids, “You can’t just… It’s not… It’s not that easy. That would be a fucking _miracle_. No amount of magic—“

“How about we make a deal?” Wayne suggested, still completely serious. At this point, Zach honestly couldn’t tell if he was messing with him or not, “I'll perform a miracle, and if you’re thoroughly impressed with it, we go for my plan.”

What.

“Uhm…”

“What have you got to lose?” Wayne asked, “You can always use magic to teleport yourself away, get a gun, lipstick, a mirror, and do the whole thing again. It’ll only take a few hours.”

He _did_ have a few days.

“Sure…?” He ended up answering, hesitantly.

Wayne nodded, “Follow me,” he ordered, leaving the bathroom.

“ _Nug strap raeppasid. Rorrim naelc flesruoy_. What kind of miracle are we talking about here?”

“We're going to bring the dead back to life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's kid collecting does not stop at dimension borders. It's a real problem. Stop. Please.  
> (Cass's fear and Jason's interest in French Literature will be explained in the prequel if all goes according to plan)
> 
> Next: Bruce brings someone back to life, Oracle makes a comeback, and probably more stuff (#epicplanningskillz)


	23. A guide to completing assignments before the deadline and other unrealistic miracles and expectations. (the titles are getting so long I can't believe I can still add 66 characters to this)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step one: get an Oracle.
> 
> Step two: If step one fails, be Wonder Woman.
> 
> Between a college dropout and a high school dropout, perhaps Luke didn't pick the best of choices to help with his assignment. Good thing these two have friends. Meanwhile, to absolutely everyone's immense shock, Bruce is not really good at expressing what he wants to say. Also he makes Zach cry, the jackass.

 

“Good news,” Dick announced, hands hovering over the keyboard like he was scared pressing on a key would rig an explosion, “the code terminates.”

“And the bad news?” Jason ventured.

“It terminates by crashing the computer.”

Luke groaned and let his head drop on the table with a large thud. The movement sent a few of their diagrams flying.

It was now early morning, and while the light flitted through the window like a charm, it was anything but lovely. Jason and Dick knew a bit about coding, enough for basic information ‘borrowing,’ but nowhere close to enough for a master’s thesis in Artificial Intelligence.

“I’m so fucked,” Luke deplored.

“We can try going back to the previous version,” Dick suggested.

“Maybe not,” Jason winced, “that one was the version that screeched.” 

“Oh. Wise words,” Dick agreed, rubbing his still ringing ears.

“I don’t understand,” Luke said, “we went over the logic thirty times. We even used colours in our diagrams! _Colours_! And stick men!”

_“Did you consider the garbage collector? You blocked it, and you’re overloading the memory.”_

Luke frowned, “That’s… actually a pretty good point. Wait, let me—“  He froze, maybe only realising then that neither Dick or Jason had asked that question. “Did my computer just speak to me?”

“I don’t think that was your computer,” Dick told him, eyes wide at the screen, which was now of a familiar green. Plastered in the centre was Oracle’s mask – a perfect replica.

_“Hope you don’t mind but I shuffled a few things,”_ Oracle told them. The screen returned to its previous display, only a small window still showcasing Oracle’s signature.

“It works,” Luke breathed as he grabbed his laptop back from Dick and ran his code, “it’s a fucking miracle!”

“ _Least I could do_ ,” Oracle agreed, “ _the_midnighter, correct?”_

“You know who I am?” Luke asked, startled.

“ _There aren’t enough hacktivists fighting against LexCorp and the Calculator_ ,” Oracle told him, “ _and even less who know that Gorgon and the Calculator are one and the same. Your work has helped me out quite a lot in the past_.”

“You’re Oracle,” Luke realised, “you’re the one behind Gorgon’s leaks.”

“ _It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that, kid,_ ” Oracle laughed, the sound strange behind their voice modulator, “ _but yes, I am_.”

“Then I’m right,” Luke smirked, “Dick and Jason _are_ being framed.”

“Whoa, wait,” Jason held up, “you _knew_ we were being framed?” 

“You don’t honestly think I was going to let two murderers in our apartment, did you?” Luke asked sensibly.

“Apollo sure seems to think so,” Jason pointe out.

“Haha, yeah,” Luke laughed, “it’s so much fun messing with him. I really wanted to see how far he'd let me get away with you two. But nah, Ted Kord was snooping around the dark web for info on Gorgon before he died; I think he may have found they were the Calculator. I figured his death was a hit carried out by LexCorp to silence him, and since LexCorp is really good at hiding their tracks, it was obvious whoever was blamed was being framed.” 

Dick wasn’t listening to Lucas.

“You’re not Oracle,” he told the screen, “you can’t be. This world’s Oracle isn’t a tech wizard.”

“ _Wasn’t_ ,” Oracle cryptically replied, “ _speaking of which, I need you two to rescue me, sort of_.” 

“Sort of?” Jason questioned.

“ _Sort of_ ,” Oracle confirmed, not expanding further on the subject, “ _I’m in LexCorp, and I don’t know how long it’ll be until they realise they have a mole. I don’t have the skills to vanish like you do on my own_.”

“Why should we trust y—“ 

“I think we can trust you,” Jason interrupted Dick, “but we’re not the ones calling the shots.”

“ _Then ask them when you have the time_ ,” Oracle urged, “ _but time is running out for me_.”

A new window popped up, a video from Channel 52.

In the background, smoke was rising in mass from a seaside warehouse, “— _the fourth this week_ ,” the reporter was saying, “ _Lex Luthor has yet to comment on these attacks on his company’s warehouses. An image of the dangerous criminal Nemesis has been caught by a surveillance camera, but LexCorp’s officials claim it is impossible for the woman to have access to the addresses of these warehouses as their acquisition was not made public. They further claim that their company has no affiliation to the madwoman, but there is no denying she seems to be targeting only LexCorp. Perhaps the top of the company remains unaware of under-the-table dealings happening at lower levels, or perhaps, and on a much more sinister note, they are not as transparent as they advertise_.”

The reporter’s voice faded as Oracle took over once more.

“I _gave the Huntress these addresses_ ,” they said, “ _and the day after tomorrow, Huntress will attack LexLab. It will provide enough of a distraction for you two to get into LexCorp Tower and get me out_.”

What on Earth was the Cheshire team up to? Dick swore they were supposed to be sneaking around the League of Assassins for information. And was Oracle Barbara after all? Because she was the only one he could think of in Lex Tow – Wait.

No. That, that wasn’t possible. Why would Barbatros chose _her_ of all --?

“I’ll get confirmation tonight,” Jason told ‘Oracle’, “but I’m sure the mission will be green lighted.” 

“ _Thank you._ ”

The screen blinked black.

“This was so cool,” Luke whistled, “I feel like we’re in a spy movie.”

* * *

 

The money bag was the centrepiece of the study, displayed open on the desk. The blade of light from the corridor pointed to it like a hand on a clock -- It seemed to be there just for the young lady, but she knew better. Twenty minutes ago, that very room had been filled with gangsters concluding a deal, which had been interrupted by the running vigilante problem in Gotham. All the chairs and the single floor lamp had been knocked down in their rush to defend their stronghold, but Plebe was simply too good for a neglected branch of Penguin’s operation.

Behind her, tied up gangsters were exploring their comatose dreams.

She stepped forward and reached for the bag, registering a second presence in the room only a gasp before her hand was stopped by another.

“Plebe,” the gas mask covered face warned behind a voice regulator, “this bag is evidence.”

“I know,” the young lady insisted.

“We do not take money for ourselves.”

“I _know_.”

The other vigilante paused, assessing their peer. Plebe could feel their eyes narrowing.

“Is everything alright?” They finally asked.

“You tell me,” Plebe challenged, trying to push it a bit further this time.

“Plebe, I _need_ to know.”

They didn’t know. Not yet. Maybe never. Hopefully soon. 

“Ka – _Cadet_ ,” Plebe corrected herself, “Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.”

“This isn’t the first time evidence goes missing from a crime scene you handled,” Cadet told her bluntly.

“I know how this looks,” Plebe continued, gesturing towards the bag, “but this is important. There’s someone who needs this money more than the police does.”

“The computers too?” 

Well, it wasn’t like the backpack she had flung over her shoulder would have gone unnoticed by her senior officer in the field.

“And the phones,” Plebe admitted, “it’s for a good cause, I swear.”

“We have money,” Cadet pointed out. Plebe paused, and the older vigilante immediately understood her hesitation, “you don’t want the Soldier to know.”

“You _can’t_ tell him,” Plebe stressed, “This is bigger than us. Just trust me, _please_.”

The Cadet didn’t look happy, but it was hard to tell under those masks of theirs. Still, Cadet wasn’t one to stick to the rules blindly. 

“… Just… be careful,” they finally settled on, releasing Plebe’s wrist.

Plebe allowed herself to wrap an arm around Cadet’s torso in a quick hug. “Thank you,” she said. Cadet nodded once, and left the building soon after.

* * *

“This is olive oil,” Q said.

“Yeah,” Zach agreed, “oil.”

“Olive oil is for _cooking_ ,” the kid elaborated, like an erudite explaining to a simpleton for twentieth time why a kilo of feathers was _not_ lighter than a kilo of metal. Considering Zach had about four or six years over the brat, and a past of saving the world and all, it was slightly aggravating to be told off by him.

“You asked for oil,” he grumbled, “you never specified the type.”

“There’s this thing called common sense,” the small gangster pointed out, “do I look like I’m about to whip out a mean bowl of salad dressing to ya?”

Zach glanced at the small piece of junk the boy was working on. It was some kind of monstrous hybrid of household appliances that didn’t have any obvious use, except perhaps as a piece of modern art. There were cables, and buttons, and worryingly enough, blades, but no one seemed to care much that the young teen was playing with potential weapons, or that he was wielding a welding iron without proper protection, for that matter.

“You look like you shouldn’t even know what salad dressing _is_ ,” he finally replied, looking at the kid’s baggy clothes with clear distaste. Smoke residue had his outfit spotted with black, and there was a stain of something on his right sleeve.

“You lookin’ for a fight rich boy?” Q challenged him, completely turning away from his creation to try and intimidate Zach with his prepubescent frame. It wasn’t working.

“Q, don’t pick a fight with the guy who can rewrite reality in four words,” a passing girl advised the brat fondly before continuing her way.

“I’m not even rich,” Zach added pettily.

“Yeah right,” Q snorted, “only rich people carry olive oil wherever they go.” 

“Literally no one does that,” the magician deadpanned.

Q’s eyes narrowed. “Yer playin’ me.”

“Why the fuck would anyone want to carry olive oil everywhere?” Zach reasoned.

The brat frowned, and then guessed “To dress salad?” 

“That’s just stupid.”

“Well where did ya get olive oil from then? ‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t this dump!”

The older of the two blinked, “I conjured it.”

“You can do that?”

“Well… Yeah.”

“Show me!”

Okay, where the hell was Wayne? The man had brought him here, dropped him in front of this brat, and then left him to this cruel destiny. He’d just spent two hours handing that kid various tools for his overfunded project and getting berated for knowing fuck all about mechanics. And now, he had to play cheap birthday magician for his torturer? He was a performer, yes, but he liked to think he was of a higher caliber than a babysitter with colorful balloons. That was two hours he had wasted not taking his father down.

Besides, Zach felt completely out of place here. Amongst the sea of street kids in hand me down clothes, he was wearing his entertainer’s suit, bowtie straight and shoes impeccably polished. He was used to an immaculate stage with heavy curtains and blinding spotlights – nothing like this cold, stale cave cluttered with machinery and piles of junk. Even the living space was a storm of hammocks and tents.

Wayne had given him the basic backstory of the place. All these kids were homeless runaways and orphans, and Zach was neither. He had a house. He had money. He had power. He could survive on his own.

Yet he didn’t seem any more joyful than the saddest soul in this grim cave. They looked downright happy of their current living arrangements. Despite how raw the cave was, this was no shelter. It was their baby. Everyone had their job in this buzzing warehouse, and they loved it. They loved their cave. They loved their work. Because it was theirs and it was something they had built. Everyone added a bit of their touch around; an overwatered cactus here, off seasoned tacky Halloween decorations there.

They all had a purpose in this Hive, and Zach felt as useful as a fireplace in summer. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

An engine roared on one of the lower levels, and Zach glanced down, eager for the distraction. He watched as a motorcycle skidded to a stop, and perked up when he saw Wayne and Harper walk up to it.

The biker threw a bag at the blue haired girl, who opened it immediately.

“So?” Wayne asked.

“It should last us a week,” the girl estimated, “a month if we pause all renovation.”

Wayne’s lips pursed.

“Not enough, huh?” the biker sighed. She was wearing a voice modifier under her mask, but her disappointment past through all the same. Zach recognized her, one of the Soldier’s sidekicks, either Cadet or Plebe. The gas mask was unmistakable.

“This place isn’t good enough yet,” Wayne told them, “you at least need to have running water before slowing down.”

“The oldest ones of us can take jobs,” Harper reasoned, “and your refugee has been teaching a lot of the kids these past few days. We’ll be autonomous soon enough. You’ve already done so much for us…”

“It’s my job,” Wayne cut in, “besides, the funds we’ve been siphoning from Lex Corp are going to have to stop soon, and that was over forty percent of your budget.”

“ _Our_ job,” the biker corrected him. “Some of the kids are only five; living in this cave as it is is not a sustainable solution.”

“She’s right,” Wayne agreed, “pause any activity on the Bat front – we’ve made it so far without fancy gadgets, we’ll easily make if further. Focus on plumbing and electricity, then on proper cooking equipment. Flamebird will keep an eye on you for security.”

The Soldier’s sidekick nodded.

“What?” Harper gasped, “No way. After all you’ve done, it’s the least we can do. _Everyone’s_ eager to help you guys.”

“There are children depending on you, Harper,” Wayne chided.

The young woman grit her teeth, “Fine,” she reluctantly agreed, “but any overhead we have will go into your toys. And just to annoy you we’ll start with Jason’s ammunition.”

“Deal,” Wayne conceded with a slight eye roll, before turning back to his ally, “Kate?"

The biker shook her head, “Still not our Kate, but just as good; she’s getting suspicious. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep this up.”

Definitely a Bat then. They were everywhere.

“It’s probably better this way for now,” Flamebird continued, finishing with a taunt in her voice, “she’s going to _kill_ you when she finds out you were Batman all along.”

“Really?” Wayne asked, his demeanor changing into an airy, slightly naïve charm. The ease at which he did so was both frightening and impressive, especially from an entertainer’s point of view. Bruce Wayne was a man who was made for the spotlight.

His efforts were met by a strong punch to the shoulder.

“Ugh,” the woman gagged, “ _Please_. Don’t. I can’t believe you let me think you were this annoyingly stupid all these years, you absolute jackass. Is that Zatara up there?”

It took all three turning to stare at him for Zach to realize his name had been spoken.

“You have a type, Bruce,” Flamebird deadpanned, “and a real problem. Do they hold meetings for that? Kid-snatchers Anonymous?" 

“You were much nicer when you didn’t know who I was,” Wayne pointed out.

“I was nice out of pity for your lack of brain cells,” the biker retorted, “now why on Earth did you pick up another kid?” 

“I needed to show him something here,” Bruce replied.

“Something? Or some _one_?” Flamebird guessed. Wayne nodded, and the woman sounded surprised, “Seriously? You didn’t even tell your Robins about him, and you’re going to tell _Zachary Zatara_?”

“I’ll leave you two to organize yourselves,” he told her with a cryptic smile.

In a few jumps and pull ups, Wayne was right besides Zach. Despite coming from a rich background, no one seemed more at ease in this cave than him.

“I had some things to sort out first,” he told the younger hero. Zach had the feeling this was his way of apologizing for leaving him alone. “Did you make any friends?”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Zach told him defensively. This was not the kind of question he had expected from the man. Not from the Spartan teacher other Tim had described. Perhaps being in this rudimentary headquarters really did put him in a great mood. Doubtful, though.

Wayne hummed disapprovingly, “Q’s real name is Colin Wilkes,” he told him, “he doesn’t look like it, but he has Venom in his blood.”

“Venom? Like _Bane_?”

“He can be a real tank when he needs to,” the man continued, “Harper Row has been doing odd jobs as an electrician her whole life to survive. No one knows the grid of Gotham better than her, and I have no doubt that, were she to start formally studying electrical engineering, she’d find all the classes much below her level. This guy,” Wayne pointed at a dark-skinned boy helping a younger girl with a car engine, “Duke Thomas, is one of the few to join the gang right after Jason took over. He was clever enough to survive on the streets without help and without getting in trouble with Black Mask or Red Hood’s empires. He won the local Rubik cube competition at seven.”

It was impressive, but Zachary hung out with demigods and aliens daily. These kids were certainly skilled, but they had never stopped a potentially apocalyptic catastrophe. “…Okay?” He managed.

“I’ve had Colin on my radar for months now,” Wayne continued, gesturing at Zach to walk beside him, “but the second I get home, I’ll look for the Harper Row and the Duke Thomas of my world, and see if they’re anything like their counterparts.”

“What’s the point?”

“The point is that if your father walked by any of them in the streets, he wouldn’t pay a cent of attention to them,” Wayne explained, “because they’re human. Because they’re young. Because they’re high school drop-outs. Pick one. No Super pays any attention to Thomas Blake either. That’s not a mistake I allow myself to make.”

Thomas Blake. Zach remembered that name. It was the name of man who had found him. The man Wayne had said could track even him.

_“Lucky the League doesn’t know about him. You’d have been screwed from the start,”_ Zach had said.

Something clicked in his mind, and judging by Wayne’s knowing looking, he was very aware of the sentence that had resurfaced in his mind. He’d only spoken it hours ago, but it was only now that the weight of his own words hit. 

An army of metahumans and not a single one had managed to find Wayne. Yet all it would have taken was one man. One man and all this would have been stopped at day one. One man – one couch potato at that – had achieved what even Wonder Woman had failed.

“With the right motivation, the right guidance, anyone can achieve something spectacular,” Wayne informed him, “Power is only the most straightforward way to judge ability. In this world, you need more than people who can punch. You need strategists. Diplomats. Doctors. Engineers. Scientists. Butchers. And the soldier may be able to shoot the butcher in the head, but that’s only if the butcher doesn’t decide to poison his food beforehand.”

“So basically war is a game of rock paper scissors?” Zach concluded, skeptical.

“War is _not_ a game,” Wayne forcefully corrected, “in games there are rules. You know which pieces are yours, which are not. You know how your opponent can move. Most importantly, you know what your opponent’s goal is, and what he considers a loss. In war, none of these are certain. For example, while I can’t condone killing, Zachary, your plan would have taken out your father.” 

“It would have worked,” Zach repeated, surprised Wayne would admit so much.

“And yet he has more experience and power than you, can you explain that?”

“Not really. He didn’t think I’d go that far?” 

“Exactly,” Wayne approved, “he assumed that you saw death as your loss and that was where he made a mistake. He thought he had taken away all your ways out, but he didn’t even consider the window you could jump from.”

“But it was dumb,” Zach frowned, confused. Wayne wasn’t making any sense. One second he was telling him he had done right, and the other wrong. “You said it yourself.”

Wayne paused.

“Any plan that involves a child killing himself is automatically stupid,” he said blandly. “Plus, once more, I don’t condone killing. Not even my worst enemies. I believe killing makes us no better them.”

“Look, I know it was a bit extreme,” Zach growled, “but I’m not you, okay? I don’t have a bunch of lapdogs, or a mind half as clever as yours! I know I was going too far, but at this point, I didn’t really give a fuck.”

“You had the choice between Giovanni’s life and Tim’s. You chose Tim’s.”

“But there was a third choice?” Zach guessed.

“No." 

“What.”

“There was no third choice." 

“But you just said -- Make up your mind dammit!”

Wayne sighed. He stopped walking, and his hand rose. Out of reflex, Zach flinched back – Wayne was a large man, and one trained as an elite fighter. The small movement didn’t pass unseen, and Wayne let his arm fall back to his side. Instead, he kneeled in front of Zach, eyes slightly lower than his.

He was silent when he moved.

“Why do you automatically think I’m trying to criticize you, Zachary?” he asked earnestly. 

Zach nearly laughed at how stupid the question was.

“I dragged you into this world without asking,” Zach reminded him, frustrated, “I’ve been pushing everyone to pursue Tim when he was being framed. I let Giovanni kidnap him, and then I tried _killing_ Giovanni. Of course you’re mad at me! Everyone is mad at me! Even Cassie is still pissed I used Tim as bait!”

“You used Tim as bait?”

“ _See_? I fucked up. _Again_. That’s all I know how to do!”

“I – Zachary,” Wayne pinched his nose, “I’m not good at this. I’ve never been a good father to any of my kids. So I’m going need you to make an extra effort to listen to what I’m trying to say.” He took a deep breath, and stated “You did good.”

Zach knew how to spit and yell and give out snide remarks, but after hearing these three words, he wasn’t sure what to do with his face. No one ever told him that. No one. So he kept his face as blank as he would, leaving his emotions to sort themselves out within.

“Giovanni’s completely isolated you,” Wayne elaborated, “going to others for help was never an option, not in your mind. But when you had that premonition dream, you could just have ignored it. There was nothing you _could_ do with the information you had. No one has the right to expect of you three to carry the whole world on your shoulders. You’re just children for Pete’s sake. But you did. You chose to resort to extreme measures, and yes, it was risky, but it was so much better than just allowing a certain catastrophe to happen unchecked.”

Was he… Were his efforts being acknowledged? For years, Zach had thought all his struggles were naïve and stupid and pointless – like a child shouting at the sea to defend his structurally unsound sandcastle. He had long embraced fatalism, but still he had found himself biting fate’s hand, because dammit if he was not going to go down screaming and kicking. Maybe it was true that no one but the Coven cared about Giovanni’s threat. Maybe it wasn’t even that big of threat if blissful ignorance kept the whole world in a bubble wrap. Fuck maybe Giovanni was doing more good as a hero that they knew – but it hadn’t mattered.

Zach had given this fight against his father everything, and no one still alive had even spared a glance or a thought at this war. No one knew how much blood and sweat he had poured. No one saw past his spiky personality and his stormy moods. No one, except the other Tim and Wayne.

And dammit, he’d been _right_.

“It’s not fair for us to be brought here like that,” Wayne conceded, “but I’m glad we were. No one should _ever_ be in your position, Zachary, and you can’t imagine how impressed I am that you’re still fighting. I _want_ to help you, because if anyone deserves a bit of support, it’s you. The fact is, you _didn’t_ have a third choice back then. That’s how far Giovanni had pushed you. But you do _now_. That’s what I’m here for. To give you options. Colin, Harper, Duke... That's what they are.”

“So you’re not… _mad_?”

“Jesus _no_ ,” Wayne chuckled, “You didn’t fuck up, Zach. Yes, they were still shit choices, but between all the shit choices you’ve had, you’ve made all the _right_ ones. I know grown heroes who wouldn’t have done so well in your shoes.”

Zach sniffled. Fuck. He didn’t want to cry, but fuck. A lifetime of struggle validated at once – All his doubts, all his uncertainties, all these years, and he’d been _right_. He had done good. He _wasn’t_ a worthless piece of crap, a burden to this world.

“Giovanni can’t wipe the minds of people he doesn’t know have to be wiped,” Wayne continued, looking away from Zach as if to allow him a bit of privacy, “Flamebird and I are on your side, and so are every single kid in this cave.”

“And don’t forget me!”

Zach froze, recognising the voice.

“ _No_ ,” he blurted.

“Ah yes, the miracle I was talking about,” Wayne smiled, gesturing at the man who had just walked towards them. “He’s the newest addition to Team Oracle.” 

Slowly, Zach craned his neck to see the man in question. He knew who it was of course, but he had to see him to believe it. And he did. 

“ _Son of a bitch_ ,” he cursed.

“Does Cassie know you speak like that?” Ted Kord chided with a shit eating grin.

Turns out faking deaths ran in the family.

* * *

The dinner table was quiet, as it had been these past few weeks. Everyone was exhausted, and there was little to talk about that wasn’t morbid and disheartening. There was an empty space where the youngest usually sat, and it was staring at them all.

“So, Young Justice managed to catch Klarion today,” Connor, brave Connor, dared, “I think we may have scarred him.”

“Impressive,” Diana acknowledged, “magic users are always troublesome, aren’t they?”

“Always,” Oliver agreed. 

And the conversation dropped and died again. For about ten minutes. 

Diana’s phone rang, and she had never been so grateful for the interruption. “Excuse me,” she said as she stood up and distanced herself a bit to receive the call.

The atmosphere at home was suffocating. It had been bad enough when Tim had been grieving, but at least back then everyone else was united in their concern. Now, Diana had the distinct impression that everyone’s minds were miles away. She knew hers was, with her sacrilegious thoughts. She was almost scared to admit she didn’t think Bruce Wayne was to blame when Oliver and Connor were already dead set on hating him with all the fire that burnt in them.

But she wasn’t the only one getting dragged deep into this mystery. Connor had been acting strange as well, distancing himself from Oliver when he was usually the last one remaining at his side when he needed silent support. Connor was never in Star city anymore, not by daylight. He was practically grafted to Young Justice nowadays. Maybe he just wanted to avoid the hole in this house, but it was infinitely more likely that he had other things to think about.

Only Oliver lacked the distraction. He was falling deeper and deeper in his grief, and Diana didn’t know what to do to help him. She didn’t know enough yet to reveal what she suspected, and if there was one thing she would never allow herself to do, it was lie to him.

She didn’t know things were going to be alright. She didn’t know Tim would never betray them. She didn’t know that no other friends of theirs would perish.

All she knew at the moment, was that Bruce Wayne was a man she respected.

“Diana speaking.”

“ _Selina woke up_ ,” Dinah told her from the other end, “ _Cassandra hasn’t left her side in the med bay_.”

“She hasn’t tried to run?”

“ _No. But we haven’t found Roy yet_.”

“How is Selina?”

“ _Coherent. Whatever things Cassandra is whispering to her seem to calm her down. Do you really think Cassandra is…?_ ”

“Cassandra is working with Wayne,” Diana reconfirmed bluntly, “but I do not think she is any less noble than we’ve always believed.”

“ _What does that mean?_ ”

“I trust my son, Dinah,” Diana strongly claimed, “do you trust your daughter?”

“ _She’s not alright_ ,” Dinah replied weakly, “ _she’s acting… It’s like she doesn’t even understand English sometimes. She doesn’t recognise people. I can’t_ not _love her, but right now, trusting her is…_ difficult.”

To be forgotten by one’s own child, Diana couldn’t imagine how painful that was.

“Then I shall trust her for you,” Diana proposed, “and in turn all I ask is that you trust me.”

“ _Diana_ …”

“I’m serious Dinah. There’s been too much in-fighting these past weeks. All the talk has been about revenge and distrust – this is no way to live. We see enemies everywhere, and we hear danger at every step.”

“ _She’s working with_ Wayne!” the older woman hissed.

“Dinah, I won’t ask anything more,” Diana told her, “trust me. Please.”

There was a pause at the other end.

“ _You’re so lucky Diana_ ,” Dinah sighed, “ _it’s almost impossible to lie to you. You don’t have to deal with all this doubt_.”

If only shy knew the kind of doubt Diana had to deal with.

“Dinah…" 

“ _Of course I trust you_ ,” she admitted, “ _how can I not? But be careful. I’m glad you’re this optimistic right now, but stay grounded. You’ve always had too much faith in us humans_.”

“I firmly believe hopes should not be built on reality,” Diana smiled, “but rather that reality should imitate hopes. Had rocket scientists listened to your advice decades ago, mankind would never have set foot on the moon.”

Dinah chuckled. “ _Yes, I suppose we have been a bit too grim recently_.”

“My dinner is turning cold,” Diana concluded, “is there anything else?”

“ _No_ ,” Dinah replied, “ _take care_.”

“Take care.”

Diana hung up.

Selina, Cassandra, Wayne, Tim, Roy. Nightwing, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, and Leviathan. Catgirl and Nemesis.

There had to be a way to link all these people somehow. 

“Diana?” Connor asked, concerned.

“Everything’s fine,” she reassured him, giving him a comfortable tap on the arm, “but I think I will need to head to Gotham after dinner.”

“Gotham?” Oliver repeated, confused.

“Yes, my invisible jet is there,” Diana told them.

“The invisible jet Wayne _stole_?” Oliver pressed, “It’s a trap.”

It was intentional, yes, but Diana didn’t believe for one second that Wayne was trying to trap her. He wanted her to follow, to chase him down a bit longer. Now Diana wasn’t one to be played, but she was too curious not to follow script. Their last exchange had been too short, and Diana found that she wanted to talk to him.

Not just to clarify current events. She wanted to get to know him, to _befriend_ him. Something told her that Bruce Wayne would be a friend like no other.

“Good. I have unfinished business with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all those lovely comments! I hope the wait hasn't been too long :)
> 
> NEXT UP: Dick has a thing for red heads, but not _that_ one. Bruce is a fucking liar and that's how he knew Bette was in this world. Superman is not, but Young Justice doesn't know what to do with an all powerful alien in their hands.


	24. Awkward.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that feeling at a family reunion when you're sitting next to someone you should know and neither of you remember the other but everyone else is expecting you two to be super close because blood supposedly has weird telepathic properties you weren't aware of?  
> Yeah, that.

**RECAP (by popular demand)** :

List of currently _known_ dimensionally displaced Bats and who they are:   
\- Red Robin: Green Arrow’s sidekick and surrogate son, part of Young Justice, Red Speedy.  
\- Robin: son of Talia and Bane, heir to the League of Assassins.  
\- Batman: CEO of Wayne Enterprise, member of the Court of Owls, full time jerk.  
\- Batgirl: student at Gotham U, daughter of a police officer.  
\- Red Hood: street kid, one of Black Mask’s ‘merchandise’, and after a hostile takeover, Black Mask himself.  
\- Nightwing: circus acrobat (shock!).  
\- Oracle: Gorgon, the Justice League’s tech wizard, and also the Calculator, the criminal world’s tech wizard. Married to Ted Kord, in cahoots with Lex Luthor.  
\- Black Bat: the Black Canary and adopted daughter of Dinah Lance. JSA member.   
\- Azrael: part of the League of Assassins. Cheshire’s lover.   
\- Man-Bat: also part of the League of Assassins. Also Cheshire’s lover. Also Azrael’s lover.  
\- Huntress: mass murderer with a genocide to her name, known as Nemesis.   
\- Misfit: Catwoman’s mysterious sidekick, Catgirl. Part of Young Justice.   
\- Catwoman: Justice Leaguer of the same name, spy in the Gotham underground.   
\- Flamebird: Gotham vigilante Plebe, the Soldier’s sidekick.  
(that’s 14/20 for those of you too lazy to count – it’s how far in the story we are)

**WHAT’S HAPPENING:**

Zachary stuff:  
Zachary has a terrible home life. His dad is evil. Zatanna saved him and took him in, and he found a family in the Coven. Giovanni has a tendency to wipe people’s minds when they realise he’s evil. He wants the Coven’s power. Zatanna is dead so they’re left to fend for themselves. Giovanni has already kidnapped Traci 13 and Black Alice, but a final protection from Zatanna means Zach needs to give himself willingly. Giovanni has kidnapped Tim to blackmail Zach into doing so. Zach tried going all kamikaze to save the day but Bruce interrupted his spell, and is now coaching him.

Bats are evil:  
The Coven foresaw that the hero community was going to go a bit cuckoo after the JSA massacre and since (see above) they kinda felt like they were on their own, they summoned Raven (who joked that she was a god but no one understood it was a joke and now everyone thinks it’s Barbatros’s fault) who in turned summoned the Bats to this world. The Bats (ahem, _Tim_ ) messed around quite a bit before finding each other and getting updated on the situation, so now everything’s a mess and everyone thinks they’re evil (the later mostly due to the face that other Bruce is, in fact, evil). They’re now organising themselves and their allies. Somehow Bruce and Steph are the current commanding officers, and everyone else is super spread out.

\- B and Bette are in Gotham with BM’s gang in the Cave.  
\- Steph is with Supes, Dami (under a spell to look like Iris West II), and YJ  
\- Babs is with Luthor (physically she’s in Kord Tower though)  
\- Cass and Selina are in the Watchtower after Selina went feral  
\- Helena, Kirk, and Azrael are with the League of Assassins, though recent news shows that Helena is attacking LexCorp instead  
\- Dick and Jay are staying with Apollo and the_midnighter  
\- Tim (under a spell to look like Blue Beetle jr.) is a damsel in distress  
\- Charlie is everywhere

Oracle mess:  
Someone has taken the name of Oracle in this world, but it’s not Babs. Babs is working against the Bats because Lex is blackmailing her with something. This Oracle clearly knows a lot, and despite Dick’s earlier suspicion, is actually on their side. Last chapter, it was revealed that B and Ted totally know what’s happening, as B refers to them as Team Oracle. But there is still a last member that hasn’t yet been made known (except to people who guessed). Barbara knows who this is, but she has a loophole that prevents her from telling Lex. Dick and Jay now need to rescue this Oracle from LexCorp.

**WHO KNOWS WHAT**

Zachary stuff:  
\- Bruce, the Tims, Raven, and the Coven are the ones who know that Giovanni is a jackass (apart from Giovanni himself obviously)  
\- Only Young Justice, Steph, Damian, Superman, and Misfit know that Tim and Zach are missing.  
\- Only Bette, Black Mask’s Gang, Thomas Blake, and Ted know that Zach is with Bruce.

Bats are evil:  
\- Bruce, Steph, Cass, Damian, Tim, Superman, Young Justice, the Coven, Lex, Raven, Barbara, and Giovanni know that the Coven summoned the Bats to this world  
\- the two Tims and Raven are the only ones who know it’s really Raven’s fault.  
\- Young Justice, Superman, the Coven, Black Mask’s Gang, and Ted Kord are the ‘locals’ who know the Bats aren’t evil.   
\- Wonder Woman, the_midnighter, and the Titans strongly suspect they’re not complete assholes.  
\- The Soldier, The League of Assassins, all the other heroes, as well as the general public, still believe the Bats are behind the JSA massacre.

Oracle mess:  
\- Young Justice, Superman, the Bats, the_midnighter, and Ted Kord know that Gorgon was the traitor all along  
\- Barbara, Bruce, and Ted are the only ones who know who the first Oracle in this world was. Dick strongly suspects.  
\- Apart from the_midnighter, the Bats, YJ, and Ted, no one has even heard of Oracle.  
\- Bruce, Bette, BM’s gang, and Zach are the only ones who know Ted is still alive.

Bat-plotting  
\- No one knows what Bruce and Steph are up to. No one.  
\- Steph doesn’t actually know what Bruce is up to.  
\- Barbara has guessed they are setting up a network, and told Lex.  
\- Jason, Steph, and Tim are painfully aware B is isolating Dick. Only Steph and Jay know why.

This is all I can think of rn, if anything is still super shady, tell me. My notes are not exactly organised and what seems clear in my head is probably not through the story, so don’t hesitate!

 

Story time!

…..

…

.

_“Miss Kane. Miss Kane.”_

_Bette stirred. Someone was shaking her shoulder._

_Bette was an active person by nature. She was just one of these people who woke up in the morning and were out jogging ten minutes later. Many of her friends claimed they got tired just listening to her daily timetable – but Bette couldn’t stand not moving. If she wasn’t exercising, she was studying. If she wasn’t studying, she was cleaning. If she wasn’t cleaning, she was elbowing a mugger in the face._

_However, just this time, she wanted to sleep for as long as possible. Her muscles were sore, too sore. They only ever got like that after a particularly tough night – like when the Joker was on rampage, or Batman died and gang wars exploded everywhere._

_“Miss Kane.”_

_She sighed. Who the hell called her miss Kane anyway?_

_Bette opened her eyes._

_The flight attendant was leaning over her, gently shaking her. The flight attendant. Flight._

_Bette was on a plane._

_“We’ve arrived.”_

_The flight attendant must have misunderstood her sudden shock for her consciousness returning, and he left her alone to help an elderly passenger behind her. Bette blinked a few times._

_Mechanically, she rose from her first class seat and joined the other passengers exiting the plane. She wasn’t Nightwing, but she had enough experience to know that when you were confused, you tried not to stand out. No one else seemed alarmed by the current circumstances, and there was absolutely nothing out of place other than the fact that Bette couldn’t remember why she was on a plane._

_She stepped down the metallic stairs, onto the tarmac, and then moved to follow the flock._

_“Bette!”_

_The blonde stopped in her tracks. Kate was waving at her. She had a small ‘Congratulations Bette!’ banner._

_“Where were you going?”_

_Bette tore herself from the other passengers and went to meet her cousin. Her hair was cut short – buzzed, but it was Kate nonetheless. It was strange that she would pick her up; they had only started talking again recently, and Kate being Batwoman meant she was living another life. Plus, since she didn’t even know that Bette was Flamebird, well… They just weren’t that close, not like they had been when they were kids._

_“I was following the others,” Bette honestly replied, “I just woke up. Didn’t see you there.”_

_Kate laughed, “You weren’t even looking. I always pick you up, Bette. This competition really wiped you, didn’t it?”_

_“Better believe it,” Bette grumbled_

_Kate slapped her back, and Kate was not a weakling. Bette was shoved forward, and barely managed to catch herself._

_“Take two days off; dad won’t mind,” she told her fondly, “you placed first at the nationals, even he can’t complain. Ah, and there’s your luggage.”_

_Bette turned to see a flight attendant bring her baggage forward; a small suitcase and a tennis racket. It seemed the staff was aware that Bette wouldn’t go into the airport like everyone else._

_“We’ll take it from here,” Kate told the woman as she hoisted the suitcase up without any effort._

_Kate led her to a helicopter, not far behind. Bette recognized it; it was her uncle Jake’s._

_Seriously, she had no idea what was happening. She wanted to ask Kate if she knew anything about it, but Kate didn’t know she was Flamebird, or that she knew about her being Batwoman, which meant that to her, at least, she was supposed to be a normal civilian. And normal civilians didn’t get dragged into weird what the fuck plots._

_Well, it could be a great time to tell Kate the truth, Bette supposed._ Here goes nothing _, she though._

_“Hey Kate,” she started, slightly nervous._

_“Yeah?”_

_“You know how at night, you sometimes… go out?”_

_Kate froze. “… Yeah?”_

_“I also, sometimes, go out,” Bette revealed._

_“Well I sure hope, so,” Kate chuckled, “you’ve been watching my back for years.”_

_Huh. That was a new development._

_…_

_So as it turned out, it wasn’t just the plane._ Everything _was weird. It only took her one helicopter ride to Kane County and about fifteen self inflicted slaps to the cheeks to realise that she was in a whole other world. For one, Kate was acting like she was her best friend, and Jake, after welcoming her back to their house with open arms, like she was his daughter._

_It was strange enough that for some reason Kate, Jake and Bette were living at the Kane family residence together, which hadn’t been used since their grandmother’s death, but what made everything even stranger was that they kept calling her Plebe when no one was around, and that a quick google search on her phone revealed that Plebe was apparently a Gotham vigilante, along with the Soldier and Cadet._

_No mentions of Batman._

_Bette let her head fall on the pillow of her bed. The bright side about coming home with a gold trophy was that the two others ‘understood that the past few days had been physically taxing and that she needed a bit of rest and quiet’._

_She checked the news. Maybe there she’d find some hint as to what was happening._

_Cold wave in Europe, boring. Marvel comics sales down, irrelevant. New Guiness world record, stupi – oh, Jesus,_ gross _. Was that a… How did they even…? Nevermind. Stock market, student uprisings, sale on chicken drumsticks, blah blah blah…_ there _._

_Her cousin Bruce was the headline of every outlet as usual – but not for his usual exploit. They were calling him a murderer, a criminal._

_Bette sat up, now completely absorbed by her phone. The Bruce she knew was a bit, how to say, airy, but he was not a bad man. He had a charitable soul, and as far as womanizers went, she heard he was one of the most harmless. Narcissist, maybe a bit. Spoiled, definitely. But a killer?_

_Nine days before. The JSA. Bruce accused. His disappearance. The transcript of his last statement._

_Bette read and reread the later._

_Son of a bitch._

_Son. Of. A. Bitch._

_On one hand, it was obvious Bruce was in a similar situation as her, and it was immensely relieving to known that she wasn’t alone in this strange world. But on the other hand, well… ‘blind’, ‘vampiric monster’, ‘white knight’, ‘shining a light in the night sky’, ‘superstitious and cowardly lot’—Bruce was the fucking Batman._

_Sonofabitch._

_That night, Bette waited for Kate and Jake to leave for patrol._

_She didn’t know how, but she needed to get in touch with Bruceman – Batman, whatever. So when the coast was clear, she found a hoodie and a motorcycle, and made her way to Wayne Manor. It wasn’t exactly the smartest place to look, considering that if Bruce was half as clever as Batman (which apparently he was) he’d have left the mansion ages ago. But Bette was very new to this world, and she had no idea where to look else._

_She took the path long made unfamiliar towards Wayne Manor._

_Or, at least, she tried._

_Bette only saw the thing transparent cable seconds stretched over the road before she hit it. She should have been more aware of her surroundings but – no time, she threw herself off her bike, and watched as it hit the string at full speed. The bike went sideways and fell rather violently, while Bette got away from the accident with just a skinned knee._

_She was confused – it was such a strange place to put a trap. Only inhabitants of Wayne Manor and their guests only ever used this obscure road._

_Unless… it had been targeting her specifically. Bette looked behind her. She could see a small bit of road far away. Yes, from here, someone could have seen her coming about ten minutes before._

_But she wasn’t dressed as Plebe, so why would anyone...? Perhaps thieves, after the Waynes’ fortune._

_Bette tensed as the wind was suddenly absent from her back. Someone had snuck behind her – in the middle of a road. They had to be really good. A weapon was pressed between her shoulder blades, and she knew better than to move. There was a huge shadow looming over her now, even in the dark, and dammit how had she not felt them come close?_

_Even her breaths were rigid._

_“What business do you have in Wayne Manor?” a gruff voice asked. Batman’s voice._

_She’d met before, but still his presence chilled everything around him. She wasn’t exactly terrified, but suddenly, she was over thinking every move of hers three times over. Batman exhaled pure pressure._

_Wait. It wasn’t Batman. Well, it was, but it was also Bruce. Her cousin. She once saw him take a glass door to his face because he hadn’t seen it. He’d been nineteen, the idiot. It was her first memory of him and the image she had always kept since._

_Well that was one thing that was bound to change._

_“What the hell are_ you _doing here?” She hissed back, “you do realise everyone’s looking for you, right?”_

_“You know who I am,” the Detective detected, sounding surprised. She couldn’t blame him. If Batman really didn’t exist in this world, then the Batman voice was impossible to link to Bruce Wayne._

_“You’re an ass, that’s what you are,” Bette sniped, “Bruce ‘Bat-ass’ Wayne.”_

_Behind her, Bruce relaxed and took a step back. He pocketed his pen back._

_“Flamebird,” he greeted her. She turned around._

_He was wearing simple clothes, but ones she had never seen him wear before. A black shirt, dark jeans. It made him seem less sophisticated. More… dangerous. The most unsettling thing of the lot was his face. Bette was so used to seeing him with a vacant expression, that she found it hard to tear her eyes from his hyper-focused glare._

_“Flamebird?” Bette scoffed, “You know damn well it’s me,_ Bette _. Your damn_ cousin _! And did you just try to decapitate me on my bike?”_

_Bruce raised an eyebrow, “the string was much too low for that. I was just hoping to catch one of the Soldier’s associates and get a bit of information.”_

_“How did you know I was even coming here?”_

_“I didn’t. I was already here when I saw your bike over there. I improvised.”_

_“Back to my original question then,” Bette backtracked, “what the hell are you doing here?”_

_“Look, I don’t have that much time,” Bruce not-answered, “Do you have a burner phone?”_

_“Yeah, Plebe seems to have a lot of those,” Bette nodded, handing him her phone. The number for it was stuck on a label on its back._

_“I’m currently living with a child gang led by the Red Hood of our world, who goes by Black Mask here. He’s like us.”_

_“The Red Hood?” Bette repeated, alarmed, “Can we trust him?”_

_“We have a deal,” Bruce informed her, “he doesn’t kill, and I listen to his orders.”_

_“So he’s the one who told you to come here?”_

_Bruce paused. “… Not exactly, no.”_

_Bette groaned, “Oh my God, if you’re not keeping your end of the deal why do you expect him to?”_

_“I’m not an idiot,” Bruce frowned, “I waited until he was asleep.”_

_“This is so going to blow in your face, it’s not even funny.”_

_“Focus, Flamebird.” Was he always going to call her Flamebird now? “Red Hood killed the previous Black Mask, and that’s not going to go without serious consequence. Some of the kids are barely six, they won’t be able to go through a gang war. If something happens, they need to hide, and you’re going to help them do it.”_

_“Bruce,” Bette reminded him, “this isn’t even our world. We shouldn’t get involved.”_

_“They’re_ children _,” Bruce hissed back, and Bette could see now why he had become Batman, “The entrance to the Batcave is along this road, in the bushes over there. That’s why I was here, to scout the surroundings. Take this map,” Bette grabbed the paper he handed her, “I marked all the safe passages from Gotham centre to the Cave. If anything happens, bring the kids there.”_

 _Bette blinked. Had he just… told her where the frickin’_ Batcave _was? Just like that? Unreal._

_“Are you alright?” She found herself asking._

_“I’m fine,” he dismissed her gruffly and perfectly unconvincing, “I need to go back. Hood’s going to wake up soon.”_

_He didn’t look that fine. He looked stressed. He looked like he was buried in so much shit that he couldn’t even see his own legs anymore._

_“Bruce,” Bette started._

_“You’ll do it?” He pressed, “If anything happens?”_

_He didn’t say it, but Bette knew there was a ‘to me’ at the end of that sentence._

_“Yeah, sure,” she replied without thinking, “but—“_

_“Good,” Bruce interrupted her once more, “stay with the Soldier for now. Steer him away from Black Mask’s hive and the policemen’s children. Distract him.”_

_“I’m not sticking with you? I don’t even know why we’re in this strange world!”_

_“Neither do I, but I’ll keep you updated. It would be strategically unsound to stay together. It’ll raise questions. Bring even more attention to our plight.”_

_‘Strategically unsound’. Her cousin was a robot._

_Of course, when all came to an end, she did as told. Bruce was a robot, yes, but he was a Bat-bot, and she’d be pretty stupid not to listen to him. She had a feeling he could do with one less troublemaker in his life, anyway. So they went separate ways, and Bette kept an eye on her phone._

_Which rang the next night. A young woman in hysterics. Bruce had been shot thrice. He’d given her the number. A Jason and a Stephanie were taking care of Bruce. They’d gone into hiding._

_Bette was in charge of the safety of an army of kids, in a world she was a stranger to. Brilliant._

With all that, it was understandable she wasn’t too keen on parting with Bruce again, but there she was, back at Kane Mansion after leaving a flabbergast Zachary Zatara with her cousin at the cave. They’d talked many times since that night on the road to Wayne Manor or course, but almost exclusively through Misfit.

The challenge of taking care of Black Masks’s gang and the policemen’s children had been straining at first, but Bette had never been the type to stare at a wall long before figure out how to climb it, or blow it up. After a few days, the day Hive had started running itself, and it seemed Harper was simply born for that kind of work.

Now, Bette was getting really tired of sitting on the side-lines. She knew there was a whole other front this battle was being fought on, but she was stuck in that stupid cave day in day out. She loved the kids, but she was aching for more, like always. Bette couldn’t stand the idea of staying in one place too long. She needed to go forward, to challenge bigger, to risk always more.

She briefly wondered, how long did Batman think he could keep her backstage?

Plebe put on her gas mask, and glanced a last time at the mission file her uncle had assigned her for the night: investigate the disappearance of a certain James Gordon.

* * *

“So, er, how’s life?” Kal asked, fidgeting on his seat. The chair he was sitting on looked like a miniature under him.

“Good,” Kon replied, “You?”

“Good.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

“…”

“Oh my God, kill me now,” Bart hissed at Cassie, “this is _so_ awkward.”

Cassie facepalmed, and sent him a look between her fingers.

“Super-hearing,” Bart remembered with a snap of his fingers, “right.”

The two Krpytonians were indeed trying way too hard not to look at him after his last comment. It was obvious because if they stared any harder at the table, it would go up in flames, and for once that wasn’t a hyperbole.

Kon in particular had the sudden desire to mimic the lifestyle of ostriches. Wise animals they were, these birds. Burying himself deep underground sounded like his only salvation, if only he didn’t know it would also be entirely pointless. There was no hole deep enough to hide from Kal. No matter where he went it would feel like they were in the same room, sitting at the same table, which incidentally, they were. Being all powerful was such a drag sometimes.

“It’s been a while,” Kon tried, internally clawing his cheeks with a silent scream. Where was Darkseid when you needed him? He’d give anything for a little world invasion right about now!

“Yes,” Kal acknowledged with a sheepish nod, “you’ve grown.”

Bart groaned.

“Actually, uh,” Kon corrected his original shyly, “I can’t, er, grow.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.”

…

“I can’t take this anymore,” Bart whimpered quietly, “the second-hand embarrassment is _killing_ me!”

“ _Bart_!” Cassie chided her friend, horrified at his behaviour.

Kal buried his face in his hands. It was good to know even a god-like being like him was victim of social awkwardness.

A small dodgy corner of their underground training room had been hastily redecorated to serve as a bedroom. There was a child-sized bed, and a coffee table. It was tiny. It looked like a dollhouse.

Kon had made the mistake of sitting down at the coffee table with Kal, and now he couldn’t get up without insinuating he couldn’t stand Kal’s presence. He had nothing against the man, but Jesus. He really didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Kal could be just like a kicked puppy sometimes.

The rest of Young Justice was standing just as awkwardly four meters away.

“I’m really sorry for this, Superman,” Cassie apologized with a grimace, “we couldn’t do any better in this short time and—“

“It’s fine, really,” Kal reassured her, obviously feeling a bit guilty that he was making her feel guilty. Was there a single person in this room who actually wanted to be there? “I’m the one imposing on you guys.”

“No!” Cassie hastily backtracked, “you’re not bothering us at all!”

Kon sighed.

He could understand that his friends put Kal on a mountain-high pedestal. He was _the_ superhero – the best of them. He was bigger than anyone, and not just in size. Kon too admired him. He had to be a downright bastard not to. Kal was powerful, and it was hard to find someone as brave and as kind as him. But what the others didn’t know, was that Kal was very… human, ironically.

Nonetheless, he really hoped they’d get over their celebrity crush quickly. Superman was now hiding in their basement, and Kon would burst if things got any more awkward.

“Why’s no one apologising to _me_?” Stephanie Brown huffed as she walked down the stairs, “I have to sleep in the bathtub!”

“I agree, the toilet bowl would have been more fitting,” Leviathan smirked, walking in front of her towards the rest of Young Justice. The blonde narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well, Leviathan’s already using the broom cupboard,” Cassie started tiredly.

“Relax,” Stephanie smiled at her, “I was kidding. I had worse. Slept on a morgue table once.”

“You were clinically _dead_ ,” Leviathan reminded her conversationally, “that’s not sleeping. Plus, you were only there for twenty minutes to fool my father.”

“Because you know _so much_ about what happened back then,” she rolled her eyes, then said to the demigod, “really, it’s fine. It’s better than risking someone noticing that extra bedrooms are in use.”

Kal eased up upon seeing her. Kon supposed he was meant to feel offended that Superman trusted some Gotham college student more than him, but he was honestly just so relieved that someone potentially could make the awkward go away, that he let it slip. Besides, Stephanie Brown was a blank slate for him. Unlike Leviathan, Tim, or Wayne, he hadn’t actually known the girl before, so he had no preconceived notion of her. She didn’t seem too close to them either; it really was just like meeting someone new.

She seemed nice enough.

Well, apparently she had died once, but that was just normal superhero stuff.

“So are you guys done with…?” Kal asked them, letting the silence speak for itself.

“Yeah,” Stephanie sighed, clearly as tired as Cassie, “everyone has their orders. My mind is slowly frying from having to keep up with everything. It’s all cool. Make space, Kents.”

Both Kon and Kal shuffled to allow Stephanie a place at the Table of Lethal Awkwardness.

Just as soon as she sat down, Stephanie let her head drop on the table with a groan. Neither Super had any idea what to do with her. Kal tried patting her back with sympathy, but it made him uncomfortable rather than comforting her, so he stopped.

Bart opened his mouth but Cassie shut it with a glare and a clipped “ _Don’t_.”

“I fail to understand why father trusts you so much,” Leviathan huffed, “whatever task he has assigned you, it is clear you are not up to it. I would have been a much better alternative—“

“Can it, Stabby.”

The brat’s comment wasn’t from nowhere. It was obvious there was tension between them. Whatever this was, it was a continuation of an argument they had only interrupted to join the rest of Young Justice in the basement. Clearly, the Bat-reunion had gone sourly for these two.

“I’m merely suggesting –“

“Not _now_ , Damian.”

There was a pause.

“Very well,” Leviathan replied shortly, a thunderous look in his eyes that Kon didn’t like much. It reminded him too much of _their_ Leviathan.

The kid stormed out, and Stephanie didn’t move an inch.

“Should we…?” Kal asked, pointing at the staircase Leviathan had disappeared in.

“He’ll be fine,” Stephanie dismissed.

“He’s _ten_ ,” Kal retorted.

“Eleven, actually,” Stephanie corrected him.

“Same.”

“Superman’s right,” Bart pitched in, looking vaguely concerned, “I mean, I don’t exactly like the brat, but he seemed really angry just now.”

“He’s _always_ angry,” Cassie pointed out.

“Cassie,” Kon warned.

“I’m trying, alright?” The demigod pouted, “I _barely_ commented on his pigtails today.”

Stephanie sighed, defeated. Kon expected her to get up and follow the dimensionally displaced brat, but she did no such thing. Instead, she straightened her back, rubbed her forehead, then propped her elbows on the table.

“We need to discuss Young Justice’s next move,” she said, all business, “I need you to map around the Justice Hall. We need a list of all the recording devices in the vicinity: security cameras, phones on window displays in shops, hidden spy mics… As well as any communication lead to and from the Hall. Tunnels, plumbing, vents, everything. And Cassie… If you could scribble meaningless Greek stuff on random walls, it would be great.”

“What? _Why_?” Cassie asked.

“I really can’t say,” the other blonde grimaced, “but it’s the mission priority. If you miss a camera or two, it’s fine. But _do not forget to scribble_.”

“What about Tim and Zach?” Bart asked, “When do we look for them?”

Stephanie sighed, again, “We don’t. Bruce is taking care of that.”

“So we just wait?” Cassie growled, clearly unhappy, “If they’re in danger—“

“Look, I get that you’re worried about them!” Stephanie snapped, “I’m worried too! I’m worried about Tim, I’m worried about Bruce, I’m worried about Dick, I’m also worried about Damian now because he’s like _eight_ –“

“Eleven,” Kal interjected.

“-- and that arrogance is like his base defence mechanism but I still sent him packing because I’m a stressed asshole and I probably hurt him really bad but I don’t have the energy to deal with his Damian-ness right now but I’m older and I’m supposed to be the bigger person in this story but instead I’m acting like I’m five and it’s like my Spoiler days all over again!”

“Are you okay?” Bart asked.

“No. Yes,” she ran a hand through her hair and bit her lips, “I don’t know. Maybe Damian’s right. I’m not good enough for this—“

Jesus. This Stephanie girl was all over the place.

Kon placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stabilise her. She stared at his hand, and then looked at him quizzically.

“Stop,” he told her.

“Last time you touched me you were dangling me over the Gotham skyline looking for my boyfriend,” she informed him, “good grip you have there.”

“Uhm,” Kon buffered, not sure how he was supposed to respond to that. She really had earned her place at this table.

Stephanie sighed, _yet_ _again_ , “I’m sorry,” she apologised, “for snapping and all. It’s just, I’ve never had as much pressure on me as I do now, and with B gone, it kind of feels like I can’t afford to make the slightest of mistakes. I’m supposed to be the _fun_ bat, dammit. You guys must think I’m such a mess.”

“No…?” Kon tried.

Stephanie’s face said everything about how persuasive he was.

“You’ve been working hard, Steph,” Kal reassured her, “it’s normal.”

“Thanks, Supey,” she mumbled.

Kal patted her back.

…

“Awkwaaaard.”

“I will _end_ you, Bart.”

* * *

Oracle hadn’t lied when they had said LexCorp would be distracted. The situation with Huntress had almost dissolved in a full-blown war these past hours, and every man and woman were working on keeping LexLab safe.

Sneaking in had been so easy, Dick started wondering if Barbara really was trying. It certainly made it a lot smoother with Oracle and Lucas working together to open every door for them, and act like a GPS system.

“ _In 20 metres, turn right_.”

Sometimes a bit too literally.

Another screen in the corridor switched on, displaying Oracle’s face for point three seconds. _“Left! Take left!”_

The screen showed a black circle with a white moon; the_midnighter’s logo.

_“Shit yes, sorry, I’m a bit dyslexic. Left. The right left.”_

Then it switched off.

Dick and Jason huffed, but they followed the directions nonetheless. Since they weren’t carrying means of communication, the two tech experts could only use on-field equipment. It was extremely creepy, but handy nonetheless.

Dick thanked God that they were invading LexCorp and not some old mansion in the middle of nowhere that was stuck in the sixteen-hundreds.

They took another turn, almost crashing into someone else.

Jason had the quickest reflexes; he forced his palm in front, slamming his hand into the chest of their opponent, and regaining a bit of distance between the two groups.

The figure found its bearings quickly, taking a fighting stance, before they all mutually recognised each other.

Dick’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“Azrael?”

“Nightwing? Hood?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“Are those League ninjas?” Jason pointed out.

Azrael looked behind him, as if there was any doubt as to what army of ninjas Jason was pointing to. There were about twenty of them, dressed in white camouflage that blended in perfectly well with the immaculate walls of LexCorp.

“No, they’re…” Azrael paused, then he surrendered with a long suffering sigh, “Yes. They’re League ninjas. I don’t know for you, but things have been kind of messed up on this end.”

“You tell me,” Dick agreed, “do we need to… stage some kind of fight or something?”

“Look, I have a job to do, so how about we just pretend we didn’t see each other?” Azrael suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” Dick accepted.

“Good seeing you,” Azrael said as he hastily left them.

Dick and Jason sidestepped to let a flurry of League of Assassins ninja ran past them, following Azrael’s lead. They didn’t seem to care that they were there. One of them even thanked them for making space.

“I think it’s safe to say that I have no fucking clue what’s happening anymore,” Jason deadpanned as the last ninja vanished from sight.

“I don’t know,” Dick joked, using humour to cover up how weird everything was, “seems pretty obvious to me. C’mon, let’s go.”

They resumed their own search.

“ _Sorry about that_ ,” Oracle apologised, “ _ninjas. Never see ‘em coming, right? Take the transparent door, go right_.”

“ _Left_.”

“ _Right_.”

“ _Right again. That door – no not that one, the blue one_.”

Jason pulled the door open, and the two vigilantes found themselves faced with the cosiest cupboard they had ever seen. It was small, but big enough to fit in a desk with two screens. The place was drowning in pillows and blankets, and there was the cushiest armchair ever standing back facing them in front of the computer.

On the screen: a familiar green logo.

Oracle swivelled in her chair to face them. She looked different wearing a dirty overall, but even with her hair pulled back, it was of a familiar ginger shade, and even without her makeup, her eyes let her sharp intelligent wit shine through.

“She knows? _Her_? Really?” Jason gaped, “Is there anyone left in Gotham who _doesn’t_ know that Bruce Wayne is the fucking the Batman?”

Dick sighed, and greeted the woman warily, “Vicki.”

She smirked, “Richard.”

* * *

“I am _not_ doing that,” Selina growled. She was still stuck in a hospital bed in the Watchtower, but she looked much better. The important bit was that she was completely lucid, and even if she did have trouble sleeping, her usual elegance and dignity were back.

“Stephanie is… the new boss,” Cassandra told her, sitting on the stool next to her. She had barely left it since Selina had woken up, and while Selina was grateful for the familiar face in an unfamiliar world, they weren’t exactly that close even back home. Cassandra Cain was hard to read, and harder to relax around.

Still, the younger girl had patiently explained their situation.

“I have every bit of respect for Stephanie Brown,” Selina admitted, “but this is incredibly dumb and pointless.”

They spoke in quiet tones. Silence was their whole world. If they didn’t want to be heard by any recording device, they wouldn’t. Not Catwoman and Black Bat.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Misfit hissed from under the bed.

“I wasn’t,” Selina sighed, “I’m just complaining out loud. I do that sometimes. Why is Stephanie the new boss?”

Cassandra shrugged, “Batman’s orders.”

Selina looked a bit peeved, “Yeesh, no wonder you’re his favourite.”

The young woman stared at her, and she wasn’t sure what that meant. She reminded Selina of her adoptive father; just as expressive and loose with words.

Black Bat placed a hand on Selina’s. It was so light the older woman might not have felt it had she not been looking. Gentle. Yet the gesture had no such kindness – it was a way to placate her attention. Her eyes were piercing.

“You will do it?”

“I’m a survivor, Cassandra dear,” Selina purred, “I know when to leave the herd behind to run on my own, and when being the lone sheep will likely kill me. I’ll play the domesticated cat while we’re in this world.”

“So?”

Selina shook her head, “No love for poetry,” she deplored, “ _yes_ , I will, but under explicit reluctance. I want it noted.”

“I’ll be sure to report your formal complaint to BG,” Misfit snickered.

“Thank you.”

She liked that Misfit girl, she decided.

A knock on the door.

“I’m gone,” the teen announced, a small _poof_ going off half a second later.

“Come in,” Selina said.

Booster Gold’s head appeared in the door frame.

“Uhm…” He started, hesitant, “I just… Er… Have nothing to do. I thought I’d hang out with Cass a bit, but, er… If it’s too weird…”

Cassandra gave Selina a look.

Selina rolled her eyes, then addressed the blond, “I’m glad you’re here, Michael. I meant to talk to you about something.”

Booster Gold looked absolutely miserable, the poor boy. Unshaven, with dark circles around his eyes and a messy bird nest for hair. Even if it weren’t for Stephanie, Selina would still have let him in out of pity. She certainly wasn’t a dog person, but no one could hate sad little puppies that much.

“What about?” He asked, stepping closer. His eyes lit up, as if he’d been desperately looking for a distraction.

“This is going to be hard to believe,” Selina warned, “but you know how I reacted rather… violently a few days ago?”

Booster nodded, “Dinah said it was a League of Assassins technique to protect your mind.”

“It is,” Selina confirmed. It made it easier if he already knew so much, “I felt my mind being invaded.”

Booster tensed, “Are you alright? Is it still there? Did you manage to push them back?”

“I allowed them in.”

“ _What?!”_

Selina took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe she was about to say that.

“I’m being possessed by Zatanna’s ghost.”

Booster stared at her blankly. “What.”

Eloquent boy, that one.

“Zatanna. Her ghost. In me.”

The blond turned to Cassandra, probably hoping that she would either crack up at the joke, or that she would be just as confused as he was. Unfortunately, Cassandra remained impassive.

“I, uhm… okay,” he stammered, “did she, er, _say_ anything?”

Selina took another deep breath, and silently prayed Cassandra really was nothing like her blood father.

“Yes, she has last words for her cousin, Zachary,” Selina felt Cassandra’s grip around her wrist tighten as she went off script, “I need to see him, where is he?”

“Zach?” Booster repeated, “man, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Young Justice, if he’s not with them. I can talk to them, see if he has time to visit you?”

“That’ll be grand, Michael,” Selina smiled, glaring at Black Bat whose grip was starting to hurt. Cassandra glared back, in a clear ‘what-are-you-doing-is-our-job-not-messed-up-enough-as-it-is?’

“I’ll do that, then. Anything else? Salt? Garlic?”

“There is one more thing. Zatanna knows exactly what happened on _that_ day, and why,” Cassandra released her grip as Selina continued, “she wants me to relay it to everyone else. Is it possible to organise a gathering? Of everyone else in the community? She thinks it’s best to do it that way.”

In no time, the sheepish Booster Gold was gone for a sharper, more focused version of him. It was hard to remember sometimes with all his posing that he really was an experienced hero, and a brave heart as well.

“What? Really? What was it?”

Selina feigned weakness, “ _Oh_!”

Immediately, Booster was at her side, ready to catch her if she fell sideways.

 “Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” Selina replied, holding her forehead, “I’m not… Completely recovered yet. I’m sorry, Michael. There’s a lot to say, and… I’d really appreciate it if I only had to do so once.”

“I… understand,” he said, obviously frustrated. The JSA massacre meant a whole lot more to him than anyone else. “I’ll organise a general reunion in the Watchtower, but I don’t know how soon we can gather everyone.”

“Zatanna won’t be able to stay long,” Selina lied, “tell them that.”

Booster nodded, “I’ll do what I can. Get better.”

“Thank you.”

He ran out of the room, a new mission in mind.

“Zachary?” Cassandra questioned her afterwards.

“I can’t tell you,” Selina replied, “the less people know, the better. If it gets to _his_ ears…”

“Who?” the girl pressed.

“Cassandra,” Selina urged the young woman, “there’s a chance Giovanni Zatara will come after me soon. You’re the best fighter in the family, you _have_ to protect me. Don’t let him get to me.”

“The mind attack,” Cassandra guessed, then she reproached, “you said it was nothing.”

“Nothing that can be said without risk.”

Cassandra stared at her for a few seconds, assessing her request. For a moment, Selina feared the Batman in her would pierce through and berate her for complicating the mission. Instead, the girl ultimately nodded.

“You are safe,” she declared, and that, Selina could believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that Damian's age is inversely proportional to how dramatic the speaker is being.
> 
> NEXT UP: Diana vs. Bruce episode III: The Return of the Jet, aye. Young Justice receives a visit from Booster Gold, at the worst imaginable time possible. Vicki, Jason, and Dick are surprisingly good drinking buddies.


	25. The Mother of All Bluffs (AKA dammit Bruce)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick, Jason, and Vicki talk about feelings, and they're not even actually drunk, the lightweights.  
> Ted and Zach have an infinite amount of confidence in Bruce's skills. Bruce appreciates. He throws Harper off a plane.  
> Cassie and Bart also discuss feelings and fuck i got emotional writing that part i have pride in being a cold hearted person my whole aesthetic is ruined don't tell my friends

RECAP OF RELEVANT STUFF:  
\- Dick and Jason just rescued Vicki Vale from LexCorp. Vicki was using the name Oracle until Ted Kord faked his death and took over for her. Bruce has been isolating Dick and compartmentalizing information in a way that no one knows what anyone else is doing anymore.  
\- Before having a heartfelt conversation with Bruce, Jason witnessed him at his weakest physically and emotionally at Wayne Manor after he was shot. Jason and Dick are now staying at Lucas and Apollo’s place.  
\- Jason and Dick don’t like each other.  
\- Babs is working for Luthor against her will.  
\- Bruce keeps picking fights with Diana. Recently, he stole her jet, the ass. Diana knows Bruce isn’t evil incarnate, but she’s still in the dark about everything else.  
\- Harper is the current boss of Black Mask’s Hive, where Ted Kord is hiding. The Hive is also sheltering the children of policemen who had been kidnapped by the Gotham crime lords to have a hold over the GCPD, as well as Zachary Zatara, and Bruce.  
\- Giovanni was hit by Captain Marvel’s lightening because of Misfit.  
\- Selina is pretending to be possessed by Zatana’s ghost under Stephanie’s orders. She thinks it's stupid.  
\- Steph, Dami, and Supes are hiding at YJ mansion. Supes is super awkward with his clone. Steph just had a mental breakdown.

 

 

Story time!

 

 

Dick Grayson was angry, and rightfully so. It was strange seeing him like that, unsettling. Vicki knew he was Batman now. She knew he wasn’t a cheerful ten year old anymore. But this, this was the first time they were sitting face to face for real. No Dick Grayson pretending he wasn’t a vigilante, no vigilante pretending he wasn’t Dick Grayson, and no Vicki pretending she was just flirting when all she wanted was juicy information. The walls had collapsed now, and Vicki found herself completely on the other side.

Dick wasn’t angry at her, but still. Brrr.

“I can’t believe Bruce,” he spat for the umpteenth time. Jason Todd rolled his eyes.

They were sitting in some student couple’s apartment, around a small circular dinner table. The couple in question were at some event, and had already left when the three displaced Gothamites had returned.

“There’s no way he didn’t know,” Dick continued grumbling, “those Oracle notes were _newspaper_ cut outs, from the _Gotham Gazette_. He must have figured it out.”

“ _You_ didn’t,” Jason Todd pointed out maliciously.

Dick glared at him, and it only amplified his smirk further.

Vicki wasn’t sure if there was any point in denying it.

“I’m sure Bruce has his reasons for keeping it from you,” she settled for. Diplomacy.

“Well it better be a damn good one!” Dick snapped, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff, “he had me running around chasing Oracle and getting Ted Kord killed!”

Ted Kord wasn’t actually dead, Vicki suspected, but she wasn’t about to reveal that yet.

“In his defense,” Vicki added, tasting the water, “he only got in contact with me _after_ he assigned you that job.”

“And then didn’t bother to update you on the situation,” Jason finished very helpfully.

“Then what was the point of sending me after Oracle?” Dick growled, “and why the hell is _Jason_ more in the loop than me?”

“Maybe I’m his new favourite,” the youngest shrugged.

Before being magically transported to another dimension, Bruce had started informing Vicki of some essential elements about the Bat-lifestyle, mainly the list of their allies and associates. She had been told that his dead adopted son, who she knew already had been Robin, was in fact the current Red Hood. The details of his resurrection were left out, but Bruce’s warning had been clear: stay away. Dangerous. Unpredictable.

Imagine her surprise when the first thing Bruce told her in this world was that they were working together.

“Something’s going on,” Dick continued, pointedly ignoring his… brother? Their relationship was hard to coin. Neither seemed too fond of the other, but there was some kind of mutual… _something_ between the two. “Bruce is avoiding me.”

“That’s a bit of a leap,” Vicki mused.

“A leap?” Dick repeated, offended, “He won’t talk to me, he sends me on wild goose chases, and did I mention he _won’t talk to me_? All our communication has been strictly through Jason!”

Vicki scrunched her nose, “You sound like me after we broke up.”

Dick gasped, “I do not!”

“Dude,” Jason argued, amused.

The young Batman pointed at him sternly, “I do not. Bruce is just being a, a…”

“A bitch?” Jason suggested.

“A heartless wrench?” Vicki proposed.

“A self-entitled witch?”

“A spoiled princess?”

“A sexually frustrated drama queen?”

Dick looked a bit taken aback by the sudden onslaught of Bruce slander, and Vicki thought for a moment that he would step up in defense of his adoptive father’s reputation.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes. “I find that you two are a tad sexist with your choice of insults.”

Jason shrugged, “Bitch is gender neutral by now.”

“I’m a writer and I concur,” Vicki agreed with a nod. Jason shared a wolfish grin with her, and she decided that kid wasn’t so bad after all. They were cut from a similar vindictive cloth.

“I was going more for a self-absorbed manipulative machine,” Dick admitted, “but I do feel I was being a bit too tame. He’s a fucking bastard.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, and stood up wordlessly. Under Dick and Vicki’s curious glances, he searched various cupboards of the kitchen and came back to the table with three shot glasses and a carton of milk.

“If we’re going to bitch about Bruce like angry drunks,” he informed them, “we need the right setting.”

“This is milk, kid,” Vicki pointed out, “and it’s gone bad yesterday.”

“Are _you_ the expert on Bruce bashing or am _I_ the expert on Bruce bashing?” Jason challenged her, “alcohol is fucking expensive, I’m not stealing Luke’s.”

Vicki shrugged, conceding to his point.

Jason poured them milk shots and slid them across the table to their rightful owners. Dick threw his back at once.

“Look, Dick,” Vicki sighed, “there was a half-baked plan that required you to get to Kord tower eventually. You needed to follow Oracle’s tracks to get there, to be credible. We just didn’t think you’d rush into things so quickly. I mean, I didn’t think you’d put faith in my notes, but I did expect you to at least consider them, for them to slow you down just a bit, as did Bruce. It wasn’t a wild goose chase.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Dick asked, unimpressed, “Bruce doesn’t _need_ to manipulate me into following his orders. I thought he trusted that.”

“ _No one_ knows what his plan is right now,” Jason told him with an eye roll, and then, he added with a glance at Vicki, “I think.”

“I don’t know any more than you,” Vicki shrugged, “Barbara Gordon managed to give me access to the backdoor of her systems without alerting Luthor and all I did was relay that and her situation to Bruce. She’s being blackmailed with her father’s life, by the way, in case you were interested.”

“Jesus,” Dick breathed, “no wonder.”

It wasn’t just her father’s life, unfortunately, but the boys had no need to know what else. She wasn’t sure they’d understand. Vicki wasn’t sure she fully understood herself.

“It doesn’t change that Bruce’s an ass though,” Dick scowled.

“What else is new?” Jason asked sarcastically, “get over it, pretty boy. B withholds info from everyone; you’re no special snowflake.”

“You don’t understand,” Dick insisted, frustrated and pouring himself another harmless shot, “I’m Batman. He left, an I stepped up. I didn’t want to. But I did. I learned the ropes. I took Damian in. I protected Gotham. I’ve _earnt_ the title. He can’t just waltz back, take everything back, and throw me aside like I’m Robin again. I should be at his _side_ , not under his shadow.”

For all Vicki wanted to think he was being a child throwing a tantrum, she couldn’t. Dick was genuinely _hurt_. She had seen him during that year Bruce had been thought dead, and she had suspected who he was back then already. She had watched for all the signs others wouldn’t pay a dime of attention to, and she had found some of them. Signs of exhaustion, signs of pressure. Now that she had a better insight on this family, she knew he had poured everything into his night job. He had the right to demand to be seen an equal.

It couldn’t have been easy, suddenly being the head of the Bat gang. Vicki herself, who had only been a jilted lover back then, still remembered those few seconds she forced herself not to think about. The few seconds during which her game of vengeance had stopped being a game. Those few seconds during which Bruce was dead.

She had just wanted to prove that she was not a woman to cross, that she wasn’t someone you could turn your back on. She had seen it as a challenge. And then Alfred Pennyworth had spoken a few words, her glass had slipped from her hand, and all of a sudden, it had become real. Real life, real death. It didn’t last long – she’d soon dismissed it as a strategy to distract her and replace the mic with a toy – but it was perhaps the most defining moment of her life.

Because for a few seconds, Batman had been dead.

Good didn’t always win. The strong didn’t always survive. The smart didn’t always thrive. Sometimes a man you once loved died. Sometimes you go too far in your vengeance. Sometimes you turn into the bad guy without even realizing it. She was playing, and her opponents were grieving. And she had loved Bruce. And he didn’t deserve to die. And his family didn’t deserve to cry.

For a few seconds, the pettiness of her feelings was put into perspective. Batman’s death made her feel naked, vulnerable, because if he wasn’t there to protect everyone, then someone more fallible was, and the thought was terrifying.

She _never_ wanted to feel that again.

Dick had had to face his death for much longer. He’d had to step into his immeasurable shoes, and immerse himself in the character so no one else had to. And the worst was, he’d done a spectacular job. To the point where – it was hard to admit but – Gotham had _moved on_.

They didn’t _need_ Bruce Wayne anymore.

Jason downed a shot of milk, as if it was going to give him courage.

“Okay, Dickhead,” he started, “here’s the truth. B thinks you’re having an identity crisis. I’m not actually supposed to tell you, but if he can sneak away at night when I explicitly ask him not to, then I can say whatever the hell I want.”

“What.”

Ouch. Vicki could tell the older man wasn’t taking the reproach very well.

“Come on, Dick,” Jason continued, “think back on what you did in this world, how you reacted to things. It’s like you’re permanently torn between acting like the newly emancipated eighteen year old Nightwing or the way too stressed and way too serious twenty six year old Batman. You have issues, man. I think Bruce is just trying to…”

The boy hesitated, and somehow Vicki didn’t think it was in his character to do so.

“He wants to talk to me, Dickwing,” Jason confessed, slightly embarrassed and confused, “he’s avoiding you, and he wants to _talk_ to me. He’s letting you sort yourself out how you see fit, and he wants to get more involved with my life. Bruce is trying the mother of all pendulum tactics. He’s doing the opposite of what he’s always done, because he thinks he’s only fucked us up so far.”

“No wonder he was so open with information with me,” Vicki realised, “and I thought we had a thing,” she sighed overdramatically.

“He’s not in a good place right now,” the youngest admitted, “but I do think he’s trying his best.”

“You’re scared,” Vicki noticed, eyes wide. Both boys snapped to her as she stared at Jason. She only noticed she had spoken aloud afterwards, but it had never been in her nature to hide what she thought anyway.

“I’m not _scared_ ,” Jason rebutted angrily.

“I am,” Vicki confronted him with, “I’m new to all this dimension travelling and sneaking around. I just had to spend weeks undercover in one of the most dangerous places on Earth, looking like _this_. I’m _terrified_ we’ll never make it home.”

She wasn’t used to being so forthcoming with her weakness, but for once, she wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it. Because it was true, but it was also what kept her moving, fighting.

Dick looked at her, concerned, “Sorry, Vicki, I didn’t even think about how you must be feeling right now. We’re all so used to all… this.”

He was such a sweet kid. Made her feel a bit old though, the ass.

“It’s just hard to keep following orders when it feels like they’re just for killing time,” Dick admitted, and Jason briefly looked away, suspiciously guilty, when his older brother wasn’t looking, “I mean, our next task on the list is to rig the vote of an elementary school class so Amanda Waller’s kid is elected class representative. _Why_?”

“Is that seriously what he asked you to do?” Vicki frowned.

“Yep,” Jason confirmed, “straight from Misfit’s mouth.”

“Well, I heard Barbara Gordon say he might be trying to build a network,” Vicki told them, a bit baffled by their assigned task.

“I did deduce that much,” Dick deadpanned, “but why the ridiculous extras?”

“If _we’re_ confused by it,” Jason told them, “imagine how Babs must feel.”

“She’s going to figure out it’s just a mind game,” Dick complained, but accepted the explanation nonetheless.

Vicki wasn’t as trusting. The reporter in her noticed Jason was fiddling with something in his pocket, and faster than he could react, she reached for his hand, placating it over the table.

A small object rolled between the empty shot glasses. A small, red, earpiece.

Dick froze.

“That’s a Checkmate earpiece,” he said, eyes fixed on it, then on Jason.

“Yes,” Jason admitted.

“It’s fully functional.”

“Yes.”

“Babs can _track_ that.”

“… Yes.”

And then Dick punched Jason, and Vicki had the good reflex to scoot her chair away.

“Boys,” she tried mediating.

Jason stumbled out of his chair, and caught the older man’s next punch. He was taller than Dick, and more imposing. Neither of them were surprised they had erupted in a fight.

“You were giving them our location,” Dick spat, “ _you’re_ the reason they always found us!”

“B’s orders,” Jason replied coolly.

Dick looked like he was about to bite the younger man’s head off, but he deflated.

“Dammit Bruce,” he swore under his breath, “this is why he’s avoiding me.”

“Anger management issues?” Vicki guessed.

“I know him best. He knew I’d notice if I stuck around,” the young Batman revealed, “It’s not just Babs he’s trying to distract, it’s _us_.”

* * *

“ _Victoria Vale has been safely retrieved from LexCorp by Nightwing and Hood_ ,” Ted’s modulated voice informed him.

Bruce swallowed a sigh of relief. He knew she was a capable woman, but there was a huge gap between someone equipped to thrive in an office, and someone equipped to survive on the field. Vicki was smart and cunning, but there was no way she had the training to make it through a clash between LexCorp and the League of Assassins.

A small part of his mind warned him that he may have created an unholy trinity sticking Vicki Vale, Jason, and a neglected Dick together, but it was the price to pay.

“ _Also this is a really shit idea and you’re going to die_ ,” Oracle continued casually.

“Don’t be pessimistic,” Zach replied with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “it’s only a mildly mediocre idea and he’s going to die.”

“Why are we doing this again?” Harper Row asked, voice slightly panicked.

Bruce ignored them and focused on piloting Diana’s invisible jet over the skies of Gotham. It was morning and way too early to entertain the whines of two teens and an overgrown man-child.

“ _You know you said that out loud, right?_ ”

“My bad,” Bruce excused himself, clearly not sorry at all.

His co-pilot, Harper, was exhuming nervousness. He couldn’t blame her, considering what they were about to do. She kept fiddling with her seat belt, and glancing at the bullet proof vest they he was wearing and all all the blunt weapons Bruce had strapped on himself, all stolen gifts of the GCPD.

Still, he had to admire the courage she had shown stepping up for the occasion.

“Wonder Woman is going to _kill_ us,” she whispered to herself.

“We can still turn back,” Bruce informed her.

“No,” she shook her head, “don’t mind me. The policemen’s children need this. Do we have to it so… violently though?”

“Langstorm needs us to be seen,” Bruce replied, a hidden apology, “by everyone.”

“She’s there,” Zach told them, leaning forward as he pointed a dot in the horizon.

Bruce nodded, “Zachary,” he reminded the younger hero.

Zach turned to Harper, “ _Tcetorp dna edih reprah dna em_.”

A bubble bloomed around the two teenagers, rendering them invisible, and soon Bruce found himself seemingly alone in the jet, accompanied only by Oracle’s mask on the screens.

And then he put on the gaz. And didn’t stop.

Diana noticed the jet only seconds before the collision, her head whipping around, eyes wide. There was a spark of annoyance in her surprise, and Bruce swore he saw her mouth ‘you have got to be kidding me’.

The mid air crash sent a wave through the whole jet, propelling Bruce against the back of his seat violently. Diana’s jet was made to be sturdy, and Diana herself was quite the solid being.

It wouldn’t hurt her, he knew.

“Oracle?” Bruce asked through gritted teeth.

“ _I’ve got control of the jet_ ,” Oracle informed him, “ _go get beat up_.”

“Who says I’m going to lose?”

“ _Ha! Good one. See you in Hell_.”

Bruce opened the hatch overhead, and climbed on top of the plane. The wind was strong but nothing he hadn’t faced before. Diana caught sight of him the second he stepped out.

She had both hands on the nose of her jet, keeping it from impaling her stomach.

“Are you serious?” She asked him, obviously unhappy.

“I need this fight to look real,” he told her plainly, taking a stance.

Diana cast a glance sideways, noticing that they were low enough to be at eye level of the highest floors of the highest skyscrapers of Gotham. They had an audience, already gaping in awe at their confrontation.

“What’s at stake?” She asked him, flying over the plane and landing in front of Bruce.

“The lives of Nemesis, Azrael and Man-Bat,” he replied sincerely, “and the League of Assassin coming after Tim again.”

The Amazon squinted, looking for the lie. She couldn’t find it.

“The League of Assassins has been quiet recently,” she said. “Very well.”

And then Bruce was kicked off the plane. Violently.

“ _Told you charging into her was a bad idea_ ,” Ted spoke in his ear, “ _You deserve it_.”

“Shut up,” Bruce mumbled, trying to regain the breath Diana had knocked out of his lungs. The freefall was pressuring him to do something, but none of his current equipment was suited for catching him.

Diana wouldn’t let him die though.

He felt the lasso snake around his ankle before he was yanked upwards again. He missed his grappling gun. So much.

Diana slammed him against her plane’s bodywork.

“Oof!”

“That’s for stealing my jet,” she told him, looming over him.

Bruce didn’t wait another second, he flipped over and sprayed a can of pepper spray into her eyes, causing her to hiss briefly and stumble backwards. He prevented the distance between them to grow too great, and unhooked the baton hanging from his belt.

Diana managed to block the first hit with her bracelet. Even blinded she had a spectacular awareness of her surroundings.

She swiped his legs with her own, favouring wide movements to precise ones.

“How does this fight end?” She asked him.

Bruce caught himself on her arm before he could hit the metallic ground they were fighting for. He avoided looking down, knowing the invisible jet would just show him how high up they were. He didn’t need to anyway; he kept a rather good idea of where the plane stopped and the freefall began.

He swung himself over it and landed behind her.

“You get your jet back,” Bruce replied, “how’s Giovanni?”

Hit.

Block.

Dodge.

“Marvel’s thunder hit him pretty hard,” she replied, “but he’s recovered. Is Selina one of yours?”

Bruce startled, and Diana managed to graze his arm. She had missed on purpose; it would have broken his arm otherwise.

If Diana was asking this, then clearly Selina Kyle had started acting out as well. It was selfish, but Bruce did wish strongly that was the case. He wasn’t too sure if Cassandra was still in the Watchtower, or if Stephanie had moved her out, but he did know that Selina could take care of herself. She was the only one he knew for sure would never be fooled by a Zatara’s act.

Plus, he could use her wisdom.

“Has she said anything?” He asked.

“She claims to be possessed by Zatana,” Diana told him.

What.

Diana’s palm accidentally hit him square in the chest, and he nearly fell. He was going to get a nasty bruise there.

“She wants to gather everyone to retell what happened that day.”

What.

That was… Good? Stephanie was following the plan, sort of, but… No. They knew that going in. Their plan had its limits, and this was the main one. It was a gamble, and Bruce had to keep faith in Batgirl. After all, that was all because of him. He should have…

“Don’t lasso her in front of anyone, please,” he told Diana, confirming her suspicions.

Diana glared at him as she threw him sideways to the ground, “those are my friends you are manipulating, Wayne. Gatherings like these are dangerous.”

The perfect opportunity for another mass killing. What was Stephanie thinking?

“I will not endanger my brothers and sisters in arms,” she warned him.

He could still stop it. All he needed to do was think. _Think_.

Bruce clenched his fists.

“I won’t let that happen,” he promised her, “I won’t let anyone die.”

“I sense doubt in your words,” Diana reproached him.

 _Thud_.

Bruce felt the new arrival on the plane through his feet. They’d jumped from one of the skyscraper still towering the plane, and had managed to land on its wing despite it being invisible.

“Bruce,” The Soldier greeted him warily.

“I’m handling this,” Diana told her fellow vigilante.

“This is Gotham,” Jacob told her simply, and Bruce had never felt so related to the man before, “it’s _my_ territory.”

Bruce felt a hand graze his arm. They were there. Good.

“Go ahead,” he allowed, speaking too low for any of the two others to hear him over the wind.

“ _Reprah raeppaer_ ,” Zach muttered just as low.

To Diana and Jacob’s surprise, Harper materialized out of thin air just next to Bruce, who yanked her in his grasp and put a knife to her neck.

“One move and she dies,” he said. Harper sobbed, only half acting. She seemed to have some fear of heights. Bruce pulled her closer, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t let him kill me,” she whimpered. A brave heart and good acting skills.

“Let her go,” Jacob ordered him strongly, agitated.

Harper, who had a hand on Bruce’s wrist, forced the blade to pull a drop of blood from her neck. Bruce tensed, but the girl made no move to hurt herself further.

“It’s him,” she sobbed, “he has the childr –“

“Shut up brat,” Bruce growled.

“The Policemen’s children,” Jacob realized, before he spat, “and just when I thought you couldn’t be any more rotten, Bruce.”

Bruce whispered in Harper’s ear “Are you sure you’re up for it?” The girl gulped, and nodded imperceptibly.

He took a deep breath, and then threw her off the plane.

Harper screamed.

Immediately, Diana dived after her. Bruce took the opportunity to charge at his uncle, who’s momentary distraction enabled Bruce to tackle him off the jet.

As predicted, the man took out his grapple gun. It was that or they both crashed on the ground and died, and Jacob Kane was no first class moron. He shot upwards, catching a gargoyle.

The two Gothamites swung into a skyscraper’s window and shattered it as they rolled on the floor. A few office workers cried and scampered away from the scene.

Bruce immediately shocked his uncle with a Taser, and disappeared into the building. He knew Diana would be fast enough to rescue Harper. He knew Jacob would recover before anyone got to him and removed his mask. He knew he could escape unseen.

Fire burned in his eyes. He could do it. All he had to do was think. Think _harder_.

Three people in that jet, three different goals, all met. Bruce had shown the world he was a super villain once and for all, Harper had managed to get in contact with the Soldier and to convince him she wasn't in league with Bruce, and Zach…

Hopefully Diana wouldn’t be too startled when she noticed him in his jet. God knew she had a mean kick.

* * *

Cassie heard a small pat as her feet landed in front of the YJ mansion ground. There had been a time where such feat would have been impossible. Rowdy as they were, the other members were always shrieking or laughing or arguing loud enough to cover the sound of her landing. Nowadays though, the mansion felt absolutely dead save for the wind that blew around it. It was strange how it had gone from being her weekend refuge to being her weekday workplace.

She was almost reluctant to get in. It meant starting another day of planning and stress. Another day of bad news. That wasn’t the memory she wanted to keep of the mansion. Not when it had housed her happiest childhood memories, her dumbest feats alongside her best friends. She didn’t want any of that overwritten. But life seemed determined otherwise.

As she gathered courage to sink her head in the water, Cassie noticed she wasn’t the only one on the grass outside. She saw Bart’s legs sticking out behind the mansion.

Curious, she forwent the door for her friend.

He was sitting in a ball, arms wrapped around his knees. The morning sun’s angle covered him in the mansion’s shadows, and he barely turned to Cassie when he noticed her arrival. He looked just like a pouting child.

“I miss Tim. Our Tim,” Bart whispered after a few seconds of silence, “he wasn’t as good of a fighter as this one, or as clever of a strategist, but he never let us get this deep in crap. Tim was our rock, he kept us on the ground. He simplified every problem we came across, reminded us of our own limits, and he always reined us in when we made too much collateral damage, or forgot to think about the little guy. He made everything clearer, not like this Tim.”

“Bart, it’s not his fault,” Cassie started.

“I know,” the speedster cut in, “but it doesn’t change anything. He’s not our Tim. He didn’t grow up with us. He’s cold, and his eyes are – tell me you noticed, Cassie. He’s never there when we talk to him. He’s always in his own head, or completely focused forward. Our Tim was always in the here and now, eyes and mind on the people he was talking to. That’s what made him _Tim_. He was – he _is_ the one who noticed all the small things; when we were sad or angry, or when there was an old grandma crossing the road behind the monster we were fighting. If anyone else had been replaced instead of him, they’d have been busted on day one.”

Cassandra threw herself on the ground next to Bart.

She knew Bart didn’t mean it that way, but his last phrase _stung_. They hadn’t noticed for over a month – what did that say about them? About her?

She sighed, “Yeah, probably.”

“I get that they’re not bad guys, you know?” Bart continued. “We brought them here. And they’re good, and really efficient too, but… They just don’t – They feel wrong. They don’t belong here.”

“Well, they are from an alternate universe,” Cassie reminded her friend, propping herself on her elbows.

“Not like that,” Bart corrected, “not like someone being in a different country. Like a virus in a human body.”

It was strange for Bart to be so negative about someone.

“Bart,” Cassie warned.

“Oh come on, Cassie, I know you think it too,” the younger of the two admonished, “they may not have killed the JSA, but everything else? Eddie? The tension within the community? The traitor hunt? All the secrets we have to keep now? Zach missing? All the shit started after they came here. They brought it here, them and their plans and orders.”

Cassie tried very hard to pretend he wasn’t echoing her own thoughts.

“There’s good too,” she pointed out, “Kon came back.”

Bart ceased tapping his foot on the ground. Social norms wanted him to acquiesce and admit her point; Kon was one of his best friends after all, and the other Tim had dragged him out of his slump. Yet the boy did no such thing. His expression tightened, aware of how unkind his feelings were.

“I was kind of glad when Kon left this life,” he confessed, “it sucked that there was all this horrible iciness in our circle, but other than Tim, we all grew up in this mess. Kon, Zach, you and I, we’ve been abnormal from the start. When Kon started his life on the farm, it gave me hope for all of us, that we have a place in this world, that we belong there too, that we don’t _need_ to save the world again and again to be allowed to exist here.”

“Farm life really didn’t suit him, though,” Cassie told him.

Bart snorted, “I’m amazed he lasted two years.”

“Yeah,” Cassie agreed, thinking about the messages she had gotten from Superboy over the past two years. Weak in terms of confidence, but full of frustration and care. Care for Tim, for her, for all of them. For the world.

Bart was right. Even without other Tim’s intervention, Kon wouldn’t have stayed silent after the JSA massacre. Perhaps just to be a pillar for the others as they crumbled into rage and sorrow – but he’d have returned. Or maybe he’d have lived out his existence in the butthole of Kansas, but maybe then he’d become a doctor or a police officer or a fireman and maybe he’d save even more lives than he did as a hero, and maybe he’d have eventually built a family and been happy.

Kon had returned, but it hadn’t really been his decision. Other Tim had brought him back out of convenience. Who knew what that would mean on the long haul.

“I feel so powerless nowadays,” Bart confessed, quietly, “ever since the other Tim took us down in the Watchtower, ever since the Bats have started issuing orders, it feels like they’re taking over our world…”

“They have more experience,” Cassie argued, feeling her defense weak herself, “they’re born leaders. It’s the best choice.”

“Is it really?” Bart challenged her. His eyes met hers dead on, and she was surprised to see how long he could keep it up. Bart had never been the patient type.

The demigod found that she couldn’t reply straight away and honestly at once.

“We already have a leader,” the speedster reminded her pointedly.

So that was why Bart was so focused despite being a hyper active case if there ever was one. He was angry, at Cassie, for shirking her duties. She couldn’t blame him; Cassie had given away her responsibilities as leader the second another pair of hands had offered to relieve her of the burden.

But Bart didn’t know what it was like – how unsuited for the position she was. She’d earned the title through a stupid election, and while they had taken off well, Cassie had piled up mistakes on mistakes these past years, and the more she messed up, the more she feared messing up.

It was under Cassandra’s leadership that Kon went haywire, that Tim kept getting hurt, that Young Justice nearly walked straight into a lethal trap were it not for Bizarro of all things.

Every hero had nightmares of their friends dying every once in a while. They had all seen battles, horror, and close calls. But those nightmares, they _haunted_ Cassie. She couldn’t remember the last night she hadn’t gone to sleep dreading what her mind would show her. The only moments of relief she ever got at night was at the very end of those ghastly dreams, where the bad guy finally moved on to her, and for a few seconds she believed it was finally over, that at least she wouldn’t have to spend her every thought thinking of worst case scenarios anymore.

Cassie blanched. Oh God, she thought, realizing what exactly that said about her.

Had she really gone that far…?  Was it even possible for one’s thoughts to sink so darkly without even noticing?

No. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t. Not Cassie. She was a demigod, Wonder Girl – she was powerful and so, so fortunate. She had the best mentor one could ask for, a caring mother, friends like few were lucky to have – she couldn’t have come so close to wishing her own death.

It didn’t make sense. There were many worst off than her. She couldn’t be that self-centered.

(But the constant worrying, the constant thinking, the constant doubt, the constant self-insults – she wanted nothing more but to shut. It. All. _Off_.)

“Cassie,” Bart was calling her out, hand hovering over her shoulder hesitantly, “Cassie. Cassie. You’re scaring me.”

Her breathing had become erratic. Her mind was blurry.

She closed her eyes. Focused on his voice. Away from her own.

“Bart, I,” she started once she found herself capable of it once more, “I’m—“

The words wouldn’t come out. She didn’t what to say. She had held so long, she didn’t want to break. Bart didn’t need her troubles. He had already sat so long with her, no doubt he was getting antsy. Plus, she was the leader of YJ, she wasn’t supposed to be so weak.

“What’s wrong?” Bart asked her. And for all her mind wanted her to believe that he was just being polite, Cassie still had enough trust in her heart to know that wasn’t the case.

This was Bart, not just one of her closest friends, but also the boy who took idioms at face value. He was brash, and sometimes irresponsible, but he had the unusual characteristic of having no filter at all between his brain and his mouth. No one wore his heart and thoughts on his face like he did.

And so Cassie broke through her filter, and found her words, and her tears, and her deepest insecurities. All those things she had not allowed herself to show, because she was not supposed to have them, because she was a demigod and Wonder Woman’s protégé, because she was blonde with blue eyes and she _had_ to be happy and successful. She stuttered, stammered, hesitated, abandoned sentences for more appropriate ones. She spoke in strings with no ends and no obvious point, in grammatically incorrect structures that would make literature teacher weep in horror, but she spoke.

She clenched her teeth and fists and spat out her frustration and anger towards herself. She mellowed out and whispered the thoughts she was most ashamed of. She laughed at her own stupidity, and punctuated her innermost questions.

She spoke, and Bart listened, without even tapping his feet. She cried, and Bart refused to look away. And when the tears blinded her eyes and her sniffles deafened her ears, he squeezed her hand to tell her that he was still there.

And he didn’t interrupt. Not once. Not for what felt like ages. The sun had already reached the tip of Bart’s nose when she came to an end.

“Hera, I’m sorry Bart,” she apologized as she finished, sniffling and wiping her cheeks, “this was supposed to be about you and I just dumped all this instead.”

“I’m glad you did,” Bart immediately corrected her, but his voice was shaky, hesitant, thrown off. He was scared, and shocked. “I knew it wasn’t easy being in your place, but, _fuck_.”

Cassie was startled by his swearing. Bart was no soap-washed mouth, but it was rare for him to drop a swear word with so much intensity.

“Thank you for telling me,” he told her sincerely, “thank you. This couldn’t have been easy. Man, I don’t know if I could have – I just – give me a moment.”

“Sorry,” Cassie sighed, “I probably shouldn’t have—“

“No!” Bart insisted, his words rushed, “No, that’s not why. I just, need a moment. I feel like we just dodged a nuclear scale bullet. I’m like, super shocked you came this close to – but at the same time I’m super relieved you told me and – _fuck_.”

“Ugh,” Cassie groaned, placing her palms over her sore eyes, “is this going to make everything really awkward now?”

“Superman’s already covering that,” Bart reassured her, “and, I don’t know. I think it might change things. I mean, I can’t just forget what you just said. Jesus. I don’t know what to say.”

“Get over it?” Cassie suggested.

“Do I look like Zach to you?” Bart asked her, a bit offended, “we may have elected you when we were young and stupid, but Cassie, have you seen the Justice League and all the other teams? They keep changing leaders and questioning their bosses. We never felt the need to do that with you. Yeah, it didn’t mean much first, but when it did start meaning something, you stepped up perfectly for the job. Bad things happened, but none of us blame you. In fact, we admire you for how well you handled things after they had gone sour.”

“I’m not handling things well now,” Cassie pointed out.

“You’re not handling them _at all_ ,” Bart added, running a hand through his hair, “and – crap, this wasn’t meant to come out so, uhm… I mean, considering what you just said about what was going on through your head, I think that’s perfectly normal. I’m really sorry about what I said before, I didn’t mean to imply you were doing a bad job. Dammit, if I want you to take charge again it’s because you’re really _good_ at it. You don’t have any of that fishiness the Bats do, and you’re always honest with us. You see leadership as a duty, and a duty you take really seriously. You’re organized, and you don’t shy in front of tough decisions. You balance your mind and your heart instead of relying completely on one or the other, and that’s so much better than what other Tim or I can say about ourselves.”

“And your worries; I’m sorry they’ve been plaguing you like that, but that you know you’re fallible is one of the many things that makes you such a trustworthy leader. You don’t try to take decision all on your own. And maybe that works for the Bats, but that’s exactly what I was trying to say earlier. I don’t think it’s a viable way to work in _our_ world. We’ve always worked on trust, and the Bats have broken that.”

“We did have a traitor though,” Cassie pointed out, trying desperately to find a flaw in Bart’s words because – she didn’t even know why anymore. What he was saying was too good to be true.

“Yeah maybe,” Bart conceded, “but I think I’d rather have a traitor in our midst than have our fundamental value smashed to pieces. I mean, look at the Bats. Other Tim told us it was important to have confidence in ourselves, and it’s clear they built their strength on their skill and knowledge and self-assurance. Look at what happens when that cracks.”

Bart was referring to Stephanie Brown’s meltdown the night before. She was burning out, much like Cassie herself. But it was strange that while other Tim seemed confident enough –

“I know I can’t just convince you that you’re not as bad as you seem to think in one day,” Bart told her with honest concern, “I’m not patient, and I might mess up, but I know it takes time. I’m here for you, okay? We all are. Just, don’t bottle things that much again, _please_. Talk to us. Even if you’re just having a lousy day. Please don’t give up. We won’t think any less of you, not when you’re fighting your own mind so bravely.”

“ _Hades_ ,” Cassie swore as she suddenly sat up, startling Bart.

“I was in the middle of a really emotional speech just now,” The speedster reproached, “I was _that_ close to attempting a hug.”

“Sorry, thank you, it means so much to me you can’t imagine, but Hades. I think I figured out Wayne’s plan.”

Bart’s eyebrows rose, “Seriously?”

“Stephanie Brown and Wayne, they’re bluffing their own teammates,” Cassandra groaned, facepalming, “they’re galvanizing their confidence to keep them on their toes.”

“Wait are you saying…?”

“The Bats _don’t have a plan_. They’re just _pretending_ to have one.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha sorry no Booster that'll be next time  
> The scene between Vicki and Alfred is a reference to the comic Bruce Wayne: the road home.
> 
> Next up: Booster. Cassie and Dami learn the truth behind Bruce and Steph's plan. Zach vs. Giovani episode I.


	26. Things not to do when you have a Superman hiding in your basement: forget that you have a Superman hiding in your basement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph and Dami try to stab each other but it's ok because it's out of love.

_RELEVANT STUFF:_  
_\- Steph, Dami, and Supes are hiding at YJ mansion_  
_\- Cassie just deduced the Bats’ plan is complete bullshit_  
_\- Booster was tasked by Zatanna (who is really Selina who is really acting under Steph’s orders who is really just following a bullshit plan) to find Zach and to tell everyone to meet up for a grand reveal of what happened on the day of the massacre_  
_\- Bart and Cassie were having a heart to heart moment outside the mansion_  
_\- Supes and Kon are kinda super-awkward around each other_  
_\- Bruce tasked Steph to hold the boat afloat while he goes looking for Tim_  
_\- Damian and Tim are under magical Impulse and Blue Beetle III disguises_  
_\- Bruce keeps stealing Steph's coffees_

 

 

 

 

Bart and Cassie’s conversation had come to an abrupt stop as they heard the clattering from within the Young Justice mansion. The fight had broken out suddenly and without warning. 

Bart wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or not. Stephanie and Leviathan had a weird relationship. There had been unbelievable tension between the two these past days, coming from the older girl’s secrecy and the brat’s entitled pride. She and Wayne were quite obviously plotting in hushed tones, and he couldn’t take not being in on the decision making.

On the other hand, Leviathan was much more… gentle? No, he was, how to say, much more considerate with her than he had been even with other Tim. He insulted her all the time, but nothing ever went past playground nastiness. And he allowed her to tease and handle him -- He felt almost _tame_ around her.

And yet they were at each other’s throat when Cassie and Bart barged in the mansion, alert. The mismatched furniture they had gathered after the League of Assassin’s attack had been toppled over and among the mess, Leviathan was frantically trying to stab Stephanie brown with a katana, as the girl reciprocated by attempting to choke him with a broom she had found god knew where. No one actually knew where the cleaning utensils were in the mansion. Zach usually just magicked it clean.

They weren’t holding back.

“Stand down!” Stephanie was yelling.

“I do not take orders from you, Brown,” the brat spat back.

Okay, so it was a teensy bit funny considering Leviathan looked like Impulse at the moment. But still. Alarming.

“Oh my God, you are such a – ngh! – such a, a…”

“Don’t fry your only pair of -- _thwack!_ \-- of neurons trying to reach for vocabulary you don’t have, wench,” Leviathan sneered, getting a kick in and sending her knock down the last standing armchair of the room.

“Oof!  _Wench_?” She repeated, standing up again, “what are you? Eighty-nine? Even Alfred doesn’t use that word. Christ, you’re so pretentious.”

“ _What is happening here_?” Cassie interrupted, her voice booming in a way befitting her demigod status.

Bart could barely keep up. He was still distraught by everything she had just told him, and the current chaos that had erupted between the two bats. Fast as he was, sometimes his mind couldn’t catch up as fast as he wished, and yet there was Cassie, already taking charge.

If only she could see herself in those situations.

“Thank god you’re here,” Stephanie breathed, relaxing her stance a bit, “we can’t let him leave.”

The eleven year old narrowed his eyes, “If you stand in my way, _sidekicks_ , I will not hesitate to cut you down.”

“And you _sure_ he’s a good guy?” Bart asked Stephanie.

“Please don’t hurt him too much,” was her non-answer.

“Where is he trying to go?” Cassie asked.

Stephanie sighed and grimaced.

“I, unlike Brown,” Leviathan declared, “will not sit down and do nothing when my allies are missing. Especially when you haven’t given me _one_ good reason why I shouldn’t go after Drake.”

“Look, I get that you’re pissed I’m not telling you anything about the plan,” Stephanie groaned, “but you _have_ to let Bruce do this. We’re already spread way too thin, and I can’t keep track of everything if you go off on your own, Dami!”

The plan. The one that probably didn’t exist.

The more Bart saw ‘Batgirl’, the more he could believe Cassie’s theory. The girl was a second away from snapping, or collapsing, or both, simultaneously. She was a bundle of anxious, nervous energy that seemed to be at too many places at once. He had barely seen her sleep since she had arrived at Young Justice mansion – maybe once for ten minutes between a long chat with Catgirl/Misfit and a session of browsing through surveillance tapes on the computer. She only ever spoke in ‘can’t’s and ‘have to’s.

As far as he could tell, that wasn’t normal behavior for her. And he knew that, because he saw Leviathan trying to goad her into bantering with him instead of working. The murder child was _worried_ for her, and that was enough to highlight the severity of her problem.

“This isn’t _me_ asking,” Stephanie continued pleading, still naively thinking this was only about other Tim, “it’s Bruce.”

“If father wants to dish out orders, he should do so _himself_ ,” Leviathan huffed petulantly, a slight tone of resentment in his voice as he spoke the word ‘father’.

Oh boy. More family drama to come. If he had known that was how real life was like, Bart would have stayed in his video game.

Still, it was getting more and more clear that the kid was more angry at his dad than he was at Stephanie, and if even Bart could see that, than it was a mystery the girl couldn’t.

“I’m pretty sure your father is fresh out of orders to give, kid,” Cassie said, and Stephanie’s head whipped so fast she hissed as her neck suddenly went stiff.

“What?” Leviathan articulated, confused.

Cassie’s hands went to her hips, and she asked Stephanie, “You tell him or I do?”

“How do you – What are you even _talking_ about?” the Batgirl stammered.

Wow. Way to not look guilty.

Cassie pinched the bridge of her nose.

“What is the meaning of this?” Leviathan demanded, growing more and more frustrated. He pointed his sword towards the demigod, “Explain.”

“No!” Stephanie exclaimed, pushing the blade away from Cassie, as she placed herself between the two, “You can’t – This is – Especially not _Damian_!“

“ _Explain_.”

“ _Don’t_.”

“Diana has always taught me to value honesty, Stephanie Brown,” Cassie chided, “give me a good reason why I should betray her teachings.”

Cassandra was angry, and that was never a good thing. Diana had been raised by Amazons to embrace diplomacy and control. Cassie had been raised by humans, and fathered by Zeus, neither of which had the best track record when it came to settling things peacefully. Where Diana’s lasso was a the gift of truth, Cassie had received hers through Ares, and it channeled the sky’s striking thunder.

Bart could understand it was not cool of the Bats to deceive them, but Cassie seemed to have had reason to think it was even worse. And it wasn’t just the rabid pet-like mess in the mansion. She really did not approve of their strategy.

Stephanie was looking cornered with all eyes on her.

“I – It’s, Bruce isn’t,” Stephanie started, panic clearly taking the wheel. “I can’t—Damian –“

And she must have seen the same expression of _hurt_ on the kid’s face, because her breath suddenly escaped, and her face fell. Whatever she though hiding the truth would protect him from, it certainly didn’t beat the pain of being rejected and excluded when stuck in an already unfamiliar world and a body that wasn’t his own.

She closed her eyes, and let out one, drawn out, frustrated groan. “Arrrrrrrrrrgh! Fine! FINE! Just, shut up! I’ll talk! Happy?”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Bart hastily told Cassie, who barely finished nodding her thanks before he was off.

Behind him, he heard Stephanie start her tale, “I was really hoping you’d never have to hear this Dami, but…”

* * *

 

**FLASHBACK**

_There was something Stephanie had a hard time understanding when it came to some superheroes’ reputations. Batman was always the one associated with isolation, darkness, and everything generally emo. Superman on the other hand, was about sunshine and warmth, and smiles. But then why was it that Superman was the one with Fortress of Solitude? This cold, bare castle meant for a single throne, with its spiky exterior and its ice hard walls and floors? Compared to this, the Batcave was positively lively – always full of vigilantes and Alfreds and by extension sandwiches, always filled with the hum of whatever machine was being used and the flaps of bats’ wings, colorful with costumes and giant green dinosaurs and massive shiny pennies –_

_But the Fortress was white, and just that. It was mostly empty, save for the winds of cold air._

_Stephanie hurried along the corridor. The Fortress was dimly bright even in the middle of the light, its walls reflecting moonlight throughout. She had never been afraid of the dark growing up, but maybe that was a Gotham thing. Maybe it was because the dark hid endless possibilities, while the light restricted reality to what it was._

_It was never this cold in the Batcave._

_She tightened the quilt she had wrapped around herself before leaving her bed. She hadn’t been able to sleep. Alternate dimensions and being hunted like criminals was something that happened to the other, more experienced bats, not to her. She was low profile, street level. She was feeling out of place in this world, and amongst her more experienced peers who seemed to be taking this in strides._

_Her quest for a cup of hot something was stopped short when she noticed a crumpled ball of paper at her feet. Out of curiosity, she picked it up._

_It was full of arrows, circles, scribbled notes, and acronyms like NW, RR, RH, BG, which were quite obvious as they were. She recognized the style of diagrams, but what really confused her was the fact that she could_ read _it._

He _only ever wrote in illegible fancy cursive or coded alphabets when he wrote to himself. This clear and neat script was his default handwriting, the one he intended to be read. Stephanie frowned further when she noticed the harshness of his strokes. He had punctuated a short sentence so hard a hole had been punched where it was. His usual inhumanly perfect circles were oval with disconnected or crossed ends._

_Her eyes trailed to the door she had stopped in front of, and she could see more pieces of papers through the space between it and the floor. How this one had escaped, she wasn’t sure, but it certainly wasn’t his style to leave this kind of note lying around._

_She debated with herself for a while, whether or not to slide it back in or something. He’d notice, surely, and then he’d know she was there, and that she had seen… whatever tantrum it was that transpired through his scribbles. Stephanie wasn’t exactly family, like Dick or Tim were. She was his soldier, at best, and it wasn’t her place to see him…_

_Dare she say it?_

_Weak. It wasn’t her place to see him weak. It was none of her business. And he wouldn’t want to know she had seen him like that. He didn’t want her to intrude on his personal life. He wanted to be seen as a rock. He_ needed _it._

_“Shit.”_

_It was a muffled curse, from inside the room. Angry. Frustrated._

_Like her own dad, on some nights. The worst ones. When he was emotional. When she’d get locked in a closet. When she’d get bruises that were hard to explain at school._

_She walked past the room._

_But not for long._

_“Stop kicking yourself, Bruce,” she barged in minutes later, two cups of hot chocolate in her hands, “I’m here to do it for you.”_

_She had never, in her whole life, seen him as startled. Win._

_“Stephanie,” he choked out, so obviously trying to regain composure it wasn’t funny._

_He was healing fast thanks to Superman’s medical facilities, but he was still mostly red, blue, and purple. It was a miracle the swelling around his eyes hadn’t made him blind. Stephanie almost sighed as she saw the room littered in papers and pens, most crumples or broken. The man seemed to have a very loose definition of rest. Well, at least he was in bed. Still._

_She could count over fifty crumpled balls of paper. Fifty rejected plans. No wonder he had given up on secret codes somewhere along the line._

_“You shouldn’t be here,” Bruce warned her, growlingly – which probably wasn’t a word, but described everything Bruce did perfectly. He was glaring, his attempt at demanding to be taken seriously. Steph, however, was standing, and that gave her the literal upper grounds._

_Plus, she hadn’t been beaten up by Wonder Woman, and she was still young, and dammit, Bruce was so sad and pathetic at the moment._

_She handed him a cup._

_“Chocolate?” He asked, wrinkling his nose._

_“Let’s drop the pretense that we don’t share the exact same tastes for food and drinks for one night,” Stephanie told him, “otherwise you owe me, like, thirty cups of coffee and at least five strawberry jam toasts. And those are just the repeated offenses.”_

_Bruce tilted his head in admission, and drank a sip._

_“So,” Steph started, raising a hand as Bruce opened his mouth to Batman her again, “and before you say anything know that I dread having this conversation as much as you do -- What’s up?”_

_“I think even if you didn’t have any detective training, you could figure it out yourself,” Bruce replied testily._

_Stephanie sat on the foot of the bed, eyes going through the mess he had made like she was watching some soap opera on TV. She took a sip._

_“Yep,” she confirmed, “You have a writer’s block.”_

_“I_ do not _have a_ writer’s block _.”_

_The blonde levelled him a look._

_“What do you call this, then?”_

_“Temporary,” Bruce practically spat, “I’ll get over it.”_

_“Nu-huh. It’s a writer’s block, and beating a dead horse is not gonna help.”_

_“Why are you here Stephanie? Go back—“_

_“Shhhh,” Stephanie shushed him, a finger as close to his mouth as she dared to, “let me bask in this moment.”_

_Bruce, to everyone’s shock, glared at her._

_“Bruce Batman Wayne,”_

_“Batman isn’t my middle name. I know you know this.”_

_“For the first time in History, you will learn something from me. I, Stephanie Brown, will teach you something. I know how to do something you do not. Do you hear me?”_

_“I do not have a writer’s block.”_

_“I will teach you how to get over a writer’s block. But first, I will tell you a shameful secret of mine that if you ever speak of it to anyone else, I will start another gang war and make sure Gotham perishes in this one.”_

_“That’s a bit drastic.”_

_“Perishes, Bruce. In flames. And toxic fumes.”_

_Bruce gave a long, suffering sigh. “I will not tell a soul.”_

_Stephanie took a deep breath. She wasn’t entirely being overdramatic, she really had never told anyone about this. She had used every skill Bruce and Babs had taught her to hide all traces linking her back to it, and while they could probably find it if they dug deep enough, she never gave them a reason to go digging that way._

_“I kinda sorta have a webcomic I update regularly.”_

_Pause._

_“Hm,” Bruce nodded, “I did notice you drawing a lot in your lecture notes.”_

_There was no need to ask how he knew what her lecture notes looked like. She prefered not knowing. She had an inkling though. She wished she hadn’t._

_“Those are doodles,” Stephanie corrected, “drawing is what Damian does.”_

_“Damian draws?”_

_“Jesus, B. When we get back, you are so spending time with your kid.”_

_“So. Webcomics._ That’s _your big secret?”_

 _Stephanie huffed, “Okay, yeah, maybe it’s not as glamourous as the skeletons in_ your _closet – if they even fit into a single one – but, I don’t know, it’s embarrassing.”_

_Bruce frowned, “Why?”_

_“Ugh, you wouldn’t understand you cube of dried up cement. Look, it’s not popular, and I probably have a total of fourteen followers, but it’s there, and I update it every week. It’s a shitty four panels format with very simple art – but I’m often too busy to even think about it, and when the time comes where I have to draw something, well,” she grimaced._

_“You get writer’s block,” Bruce concluded._

_“So you admit you get writer’s block.” Stephani triumphed._

_“I… said…_ you _…” Bruce tried reasoning, “I don’t even know why I talk you sometimes.”_

_“Do you, or do you not want to get over writer’s block?”_

_“Strategy is not the same as writing or draw – excuse me, doodling.”_

_“Bruce,” Stephanie said, serious this time, “Training and studying are great, but they’re not always enough. You can learn every technique and theory there is to know about oil painting but that doesn’t mean you’ll shit a masterpiece every Friday.”_

_“I usually have no problem…” Bruce paused, wisely choosing to alter Steph’s choice of wording, “coming up with plans.”_

_“Because your weird head is usually filled with ideas,” she told him, “I mean, I don’t know if you realize this, but most people don’t just wake up someday and think ‘I’m gonna become a robot and evaporate crime from Gotham through inhuman studying and six hundred pushups before breakfast’ and actually do it. You’re someone with a vision, confidence, goals, you know where you’re going, you know what kind of plan you want before you even start conceiving it.”_

_“Then why don’t I_ this _time?” Bruce snapped, but with much more control that her father. Physically, at least. Behind his eyes though, the storm seemed a thousand times multiplied._

_Stephanie didn’t avert her eyes from him, but she didn’t reply either. They both knew the answer to this one._

_“When I have a block,” Stephanie said instead, “I force myself to doodle. Not what I’m supposed to – but anything. Anything that comes to my mind. If nothing does, then stickmen, a circle, a scribble. I redraw things I’ve drawn before, write a short dialogue. Sometimes, if nothing comes out at all, I just go out and elbow a criminal in the face. Sometimes I marathon my favorite shows. I make sure I doodle regularly, but I step out as much as I need. Nothing comes out from staring at a blank piece of paper for hours and beating yourself up.”_

_“That sounds like it takes_ days _,” Bruce reproached, like a child used to getting what he wanted when he wanted. He was clearly unfamiliar with the concept of not being able to. Yes, he failed sometimes, got beaten, even. And man, did he know how to stand up again. But he always knew what to try. He always knew he had a chance._

_“Sometimes it does,” Stephanie admitted, “longer when you’re feeling… When you’re not in the mindset to be productive.”_

_“We don’t_ have _time.”_

 _He was right. Of course he was. This wasn’t just about going home, it was about surviving in this strange world. But it was the way he said it; the way he implied that it was not a question of whether he could come up with something, but that he_ had _to, that struck her the most._

_Batman was not allowed to have creative shortages. It didn’t matter that wasn’t possible, that no one could always generate endless streams of good ideas. He just wasn’t._

_The severity of the situation suddenly hit Stephanie. Bruce was their go-to commander. Their anchor. Their safety net. He was – he had already started dishing out commands and – oh God._

_He hadn’t scattered everyone for efficiency. He’d done it so they’d all be too far and too spread out to see him like this. To realize that he couldn’t, actually, save them. The he had failed them. And Jason and Stephanie – they weren’t on the bench. They were just the only ones with whom it was pointless to pretend, because they had seen him at his worst and – the Batman was fucking hiding in shame._

_They had absolutely_ nothing _in terms of plans._

_Bruce must have noticed the worry and terror on her face, because he averted his gaze in guilt, still riddled with that very same anger._

_And then fear merged with empathy._

_She could see why Bruce would never become like her father. There was something fundamentally different about them, despite their endless pride in their intelligence. The Cluemaster vented out his anger on his surroundings, Bruce vented it out on himself. And if he treated himself like Arthur Brown had treated his wife and daughter…_

_She was Batgirl, dammit. Not the terrified child locked in her closet. Not anymore. Not ever again._

_“I’ll give you time,” she told him, “I’m going to give you all the time you need.”_

_“What?” Bruce frowned, then, skeptically, “How?”_

_“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, taking a sip of her cup only to find it empty, “I’ll find a way. But I can do this. That way, you just focus on getting back your mojo.”_

_She placed her cup on Bruce’s bedside table, next to his. She was past comfort drinks anyways. She had to be._

_“Stephanie…”_

_“You. Get. It. Back.”_

_“It s not just going to snap into place –“_

_“I don’t care if it’s finding a lost cat or coming up with a solution to Superman’s faulty smoothie machine,” Steph told him, “go out there and solve crimes, outsmart primary school dropouts, do crosswords, sudokus, Rubik’s cubes. Help people. Learn. Teach. Do everything you usually do. Just,_ stop staring at that blank piece of damn paper! _”_

_“I can’t just,” Bruce started, “I can’t just abandon everyone and --”_

_“You can, and you will,” Stephanie insisted, slowly feeling the weight of whatever madness she was suggesting. Stephanie was taking the responsibility of the whole Bat clan on her shoulders – she was essentially taking Batman’s burdens, without his skills or experience. And suddenly she was all too aware of all the lost souls stranded in this world, of all the vulnerabilities and liabilities they presented._

_Every scratch on them was now her fault._

_“Let me convince you I can do this,” Stephanie continued, her heart pushing her to take more, and her mind the embodiment of the ‘this is fine’ meme._

_Bruce’s mouth drew a thin line as he looked into her eyes, searching meticulously for the smallest sign of hesitation. “One day,” he finally decided. “If you can’t come up with a rough long term strategy by tomorrow night...”_

_There was nothing to follow that thought. There was no real threat. They were already at the worst possible outcome for Bats._

_“I will,” she promised._

_Bruce was looking at her like he had never seen her before. Or maybe it was that he had never considered his Bat minions as more shoulders to share the load with._

_“You’re not alone,” Stephanie pushed further, “And I know you usually take this as having a bunch of extra pawns that are willing to lay their lives down for you and listen to your orders, but that is not where it stops. It means we’re here to share your responsibility, not add to it. It means we want to help you, not just Gotham, or the world._ You _.”_

_“I… Thank you, Stephanie.”_

_“Don’t thank me yet,” she corrected him, “I’m only doing this because I trust that Batman always finds a solution. If Scott Free didn’t exist, you’d be Mr. Miracle. I know we’ll be fine.”_

_They were so, utterly, fucked._

* * *

 

“You’re lying, Brown,” Leviathan spat, “father would never be so weak.”

“I know you kinda worship him, Damian,” Stephanie sighed, “but Bruce is not God. He’s human,” then, she added so quietly Cassie wasn’t sure the brat could hear, “Sometimes more than everyone else.”

So that was why she hadn’t wanted him to hear the truth. Cassie didn’t know about love, but it had become clear these past days that Leviathan held his father at a great esteem. Normal kids alone wanted their parents to be amazing people – Cassie couldn’t imagine how that translate over to kids from Assassin School. To him, skill was everything. Learning that his father could be _weak_ – same as _worthless_ , no doubt, in Leviathan’s eyes…

There was a terrified look of incomprehension on the kid’s face, and Stephanie was looking away guiltily.

“Hold up a second,” Cassie resumed, “so your whole plan is _stalling for time_?”

“Well, it’s more, like, distracting Babs and mind fucking people as much as I can,” Stephanie explained sheepishly, “I mean, there’s no way Babs will ever even  _consider_ that she’s fighting me in a one on one chess game. Like, the idea of Bruce handing _me_ they keys to the kingdom is…”

“Laughable,” Leviathan supplied, probably on autopilot.

Stephanie glared at him.

He shrugged, reverting back to his default sneer defensively. “What?” He asked, “You are clearly crumbling under the pressure. You are not fit for the task. Father should have asked me.”

“You weren’t there, _genius_ ,” Stephanie snarled back, “and he doesn’t even trust you – why do I keep saying that? I regretted that the second it came out of my mouth, I am so sorry Dami, that was a terrible thing to say.”

“No,” Leviathan replied, acting tough as his shoulder slumped, “it… It is… true.”

Leviathan was, like, six, and he considered himself too old for white lies. _Six_ (or was it eleven? Same difference). For all he was arrogant, he sure didn’t think much of himself.

Okay, wow, that was just, so, _sad_. Cassie never knew the day would come where she would feel bad for Leviathan, but – But that wasn’t Leviathan. Just like Tim wasn’t Tim. This was Damian Wayne.

“New plan, get in the jet, we’re going on a trip,” Cassie decided.

Levi – Damian, narrowed his eyes. “Where?”

“We’re going to find Zach and Tim.”

“But –“ Stephanie spoke out.

“But _nothing_ , Stephanie,” Cassie interrupted her, “I have no doubts you’re a great crime fighter, but dammit, Bart is right. _I’m_ the leader of Young Justice, not Bruce Wayne. _I_ call the shots. And I decided that you Bats can all go to hell with your plans and deceit. Look at yourselves for Zeus’s sake! Your _issues_ have issues. You guys have no idea what you’re doing!”

Damian huffed out of habit, offended, “We are expert warriors with the best educ –“

“You are liabilities in this world,” Cassie shot Damian down, “I’ve seen some of you in action, I know you’re all training to be hyper competent ninjas. But this is -- This is _our_ reality. These are our friends, our teams, our bad guys. We _live_ in this world. It’s the only one we’re going to get! And I can’t let you run around messing with things while you try to get over your personal problems. Everything that happens, all the consequences of _your_ actions, they _matter_ to us. And I’m _not_ leaving our fates in _someone else’s_ hands, especially not in the hands of an all or nothing gamble, especially not when you’re tying permanent knots into _our_ _lives_ to buy yourselves _a bit of time_!”

“Bruce can do it,” Stephanie insisted, “he can find Zach and Tim.”

“Wayne doesn’t have blind faith in us,” Cassie replied sternly, “there’s no reason we should have any in him.”

“But—“

“She’s… She’s not _entirely_ wrong,” Damian agreed reluctantly, “in our world, father would never let a group as disorganized as ours take point on a job.”

He was looking at Cassie strangely, but maybe it only felt strange because it came from Leviathan’s face. There was an unsettling lack of disdain and mocking, all replaced by subtle, but nonetheless present, begrudging respect. He was on her side.

And it was time she recognised it.

Stephanie, on the other hand, was still taking the opposite stance, yet Cassie couldn’t find it in herself to fight her, not aggressively. She could recognize the fog of doubt in the older girl’s mind. She had seen it countless times in her young career, and countless more alongside Diana. How many times had Steve Trevor told the princess that compromise was inevitable? How many times had Zach told her that dialogue was pointless in a fight? How many times had they been _wrong_? However else seeing Bruce Wayne vulnerable had affected Stephanie, it had broken any form of faith the blonde had once had.

For a fleeting moment, Cassie imagined what it would do to her were she to ever witness Diana’s heart falter. To have the one invariant of good and wisdom break, the one person she could always count to be an accurate compass. She could tell the Bats saw Wayne as their safety net. It was probably they dared and dared and broke through impossibilities without hesitation, why they charged forward without ever looking at their feet.

No wonder she wished to shield the brat from the truth.

Stephanie didn’t have that anymore. She couldn’t jump. She couldn’t dare. She thought she was playing it safe, hiding everything under layers of clouds of absolute strategical chaos. And she probably was, but safe for whom? Certainly not for the inhabitants of this world.

No, Cassie wasn’t angry at Stephanie. Not now that everything was coming together. She was brave, soldiering on when her world had lost all structure. Cassie almost pitied her instead. Her and Wayne both.

For the first time in years, the crushing voices in Cassandra’s head fell quiet.

“Impulse, prep the jet,” she told Damian, who surprisingly didn’t object, “I’ll get the others. Stephanie, you’re free to stay with Superman; you can’t tag along without a disguise.”

“But—“

“I don’t know about your world,” Cassandra told her as Damian walked away, “but here, we _talk_ to each other. Stay on the comms.”

* * *

 

Outside, Bart met with their unannounced guest. It was Booster Gold.

“Mike?” Bart blinked, head popping out from behind the door. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Hey Bart,” the golden clad hero smiled. It was a tired smile, and one he would never show to any camera. In fact, he usually avoided showing such an expression to anyone, especially in recent years. There were very few people he allowed his showman façade to drop in front of, and Bart just so happened to be one of them.

Bart stepped out of the mansion, and closed the door behind him. He had already been on a tightrope, having to hide Stephanie and Leviathan from Booster Gold, but now he also had to hide Booster Gold from the others. Honestly, of all people to show up at this doorstep, it had to be his secret occupation.

What a life he led.

“What are you doing here?” Bart repeated, this time hissing, “ _You’re_ the one who said we should avoid being seen together!”

“Actually I wanted to talk to Young Justice,” Michael started, pointing at the door, and Bart just knew he had to derail this train somehow.

He had to distract the man – but deceiving him when he looked like a depressed hamster was morally challenging. Bart couldn’t blame him of course, Michael had been part of the Justice Society of America, and for all he tried isolating himself from this time…

“Wait a minute,” Bart suddenly realized, “when you brought us back last time, you warned us we wouldn’t be going on a time trip for a few weeks. And then you left. You knew. You knew this would happen! And you made us go through it!”

Screw morality.

Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Well, I mean, of course I did, Bart. The JSA massacre is a pivotal moment in History. And you know I couldn’t change it.”

Out of immense maturity, Bart shoved Michael to the floor. It was a testament of how tired the man was that he didn’t even try to catch himself.

“You know I’m right,” Booster mumbled, not getting up.

“Yeah,” Bart agreed, “But I don’t have to be happy about it. And why did you get to run off playing space cop when we had to be there for the fallout? I _know_ coma Booster wasn’t you.”

“You _have_ to be here, kid,” Michael explained, irritably, “especially you. I’m not sure what it is, but Young Justice has a very important role in this, and I’m guessing you already know what I’m talking about.”

The Bats. Young Justice was the only team who knew what was going on.

“I couldn’t risk altering anything by taking you away, or by giving you information that could create a time paradox,” the blond continued, his dialogue containing the usual vocabulary that Bart had become accustomed to hearing him spill. “The records of these weeks are not exactly very complete. It’s hard to tell who plays a role, as minor as it can be, and who doesn’t.” He stood up, every bit the mission leader he had clumsily become, “So yeah, I made the call. You, Nate, and Zinda had to be here, just in case.”

“I get it,” Bart groaned, frustrated, “I get the whole Ten Commandments of Time Travel we have to follow as your newly minted ‘Time Lords’,”

“Time _Masters_ ,” Booster corrected, before admitting, “Time Lords was already copyrighted by the BBC.”

“That name is lame and is never going to stick,” Bart told him, “but point is, I know you’re right. Nate and Zinda probably will too. They’re soldiers. But it’s hard to just, get over the fact that you saw us heading for a freefall, and all you did was make sure we were on the right track. The whole JSA is gone. Mike. _Gone_.”

“They were my _friends_.” Michael hissed back, “My _team_. _You_ barely knew most of them! Dammit, the reason I left during these weeks was because I _knew_ I couldn’t handle it! You think I don’t _know_?”

“But you knew it would happen! You joined them knowing they were going to die!”

“I didn’t!” Michael snapped, “I… I didn’t. Not at first. Look, I… I messed up when I first came to the twentieth century, I always mess up. I should have paid more attention in History class. I though the Justice _League_ was the one that was going to… And when I realized, I had been friends with them for _years_ and… and I just wanted to spend as much time with them as I could. I knew I should have distanced myself but I’m, I’m just not strong enough for that.”

Bart paused. “I’m sorry,” he started, realizing too late that he had overstepped with his assumptions. It was always so easy to think Booster Gold was being overdramatic. First accusing Cassie for not stepping up as a leader, then this. What was with him today?

“But Ted _wasn’t supposed to die_ ,” Michael continued, angry at himself, at the world, at Bart, who knew? There was so much to be angry about. “He wasn’t in the JSA. Ted was supposed to be there when everyone else left me, Ted was…”

Out of habit, Bart suddenly became alert.

“Did someone change –“

“No,” Michael immediately cut him off, “that’s the first thing I checked. I know about major events in this era, but I promised myself I’d never look at the records to see when or how people I knew would die. I didn’t expect,” he took a shaky breath, “that it would be so soon. But he’s _dead_ , Bart. There are no more records of Ted Kord after this point. He’s dead and he was always meant to be.”

Superheroes had the nasty habits of escaping from the grasp of death every once in a while, even after years of rotting under underground. But if anyone knew when someone died permanently, it was a time traveler.

Bart could still recall the first time he stepped on Vanishing Point. No one believed that life would go on forever in the grand scheme of things, it was bound to come to an end eventually. But standing there, at the end of time, at the end of creation, well, it gave a whole new meaning to it. Everyone they had ever met in every era they had ever visited was dead. And it was hard not to think of that when he talked to others.

Even this massacre was only a few lines of text that students glossed over and forgot after exams in the twenty fifth century, when it felt like World War Three to Bart. And to Zinda, that very comparison was probably insulting, but what did Bart know about the World Wars?

To Michael and Bart, the JSA massacre was History. Zinda was living in the future, and Nate close to his present.

It suddenly made everything seem so small.

Bart took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Michael’s torso in a hug. The older of the two didn’t reciprocate immediately, but slowly he allowed himself to lean in.

“We’ll get to the end of this,” Bart promised him.

“I know,” Michael replied with a soft smile, “I actually really do know. I remember that from high school. Like I know that Young Justice is hiding Superman in their basement.”

Bart snorted, “Man, that is so unfair!”

Booster peeled away from the speedster and shrugged, “Nice job stalling me though. You’ve come far from that time you tried to end a Viking battle by stepping in the middle and screaming ‘stop’ and they didn’t even speak English. I’m so proud of you, kid.”

Three years. That had been _three years_ before. Why was no one on his Time Team willing to let that go?

“To be honest, there’s more than just Superman,” Bart admitted sheepishly, “but I probably shouldn’t tell you. You would not _believe_ how messed up this whole thing is.”

“Fair’s fair, I trust you,” Michael accepted, understanding the need for secrecy, “still, I do really need to speak to Zatara.”

“Zach? Why?”

“The ghost of Zatanna has a message for him. He should come to the Watchtower when he has time.”

Bart narrowed his eyes, “The ghost of…? Standard superhero stuff, I guess. Unfortunately, Zach is not here right now. I can pass him the message if you want.”

“That would be aces, kid. Could you also tell Wonder Girl and the rest of Young Justice to reply to the message I sent? Everyone has me sent directly to spam these days, for some reason. It’s just a Super-doodle poll to check when we can organize a general meeting. The ghost of Zatanna wants to tell everyone what happened that day.”

Bart gave him a thumbs up, “Will do.”

Booster ruffled his hair fondly, “I have no doubts about it. Thanks for the hug, kid, I think I really needed that. Good seeing you.”

“Hey Mike,” Bart stopped him, as he started flying away. There were so many things he wanted to ask, Bart realized. Sure, Michael was time traveler, but he knew more about inter dimensional traveling than just about anyone else. He would know if the Bats were more of a problem than a solution.

But they had promised Zach they’d do their best to keep everything under silence. And Bart wasn’t entirely sure what Michael’s opinion on Wayne was. But Cassie was breaking under the pressure, and everything was just, so big, and messy, that it felt like they were just trying to empty a bathtub with a fork.

So instead, he asked, “Can we really do this?”

He didn't even need to specify what 'this' was.

“I told you when I first recruited you, Bart,” Michael grinned, “As one myself, I recognize a joke when I see one. And Young Justice is anything but. Trust me,” he said, with a familiar knowing twinkle in his eyes that always seemed to come around when he foreshadowed the future, “you’re the textbook example of legacies surpassing their predecessors.”

Bart beamed. “Thanks, I needed that.”

Booster flashed him his flawless smile, the sun behind him reflecting blindingly on his golden armor, and took off.

* * *

 

The silence was crushing them.

“I’m guessing we shouldn’t have heard that,” Clark tried joking nervously.

“Yeah, but, uhm,” Kon replied, “now we can’t pop in to tell them we can hear everything, or they’ll know we heard what they said until now, and that’ll be awkward.”

The two Kryptonians were holed up in the basement of the mansion, now unable to go upstairs due to social behavioral expectations. Two separate extremely private conversations were ongoing above their heads, and it was hard not to listen to them when they were looking for any possible distraction from their own problems.

So now Clark and Kon were deeply aware of Wayne’s intimate moment with Stephanie, and that Booster Gold and Kid Flash were a lot more than they seemed. Before that, they had heard Cassie spilling her guts to Bart. And they hadn’t even intended on eavesdropping.

They were at the bottom of the staircase, torn between staying there and being awkward with each other, or going up and being awkward with everyone else. They were both standing, which made any form of fiddling glaringly more obvious.

“To be honest,” Kon said, “they know you’re here.”

“I don’t think they realize you can’t just turn off super hearing,” Clark hypothesized.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Pause.

“So, er, Bart is a Time Master, huh? Sounds grand,” Clark said conversationally, “are you, uhm, okay?”

Kon shrugged, “Yeah, sure. I guess we still don’t know everything about each other. But, like, it sounds like none of the, er, ‘Time Masters’ are supposed to say anything about being, well…”

Clark had meant to ask about what they'd heard from Cassandra, but clearly Kon didn't want to talk about that. The boy couldn't be faulted for it; it was a pretty heavy tihng to learn, and he probably needed more time to process it.

“First rule of the Fight club,” Clark nodded.

Kon looked at him puzzled. “What?”

“Sometimes I forget you’re only four years old.”

“I’m not—okay, physically, I guess, I was made four years ago,” Kon allowed, “But if you’re going to be technical than that means you and Lex Luthor are my mom and dad.”

He had clearly meant to go for teasing, but it really only made things a hundred times more awkward. Clark hadn’t exactly been very parent-like towards Kon. He had literally just ditched him at his parents’ place and proceeded to not talk to him, ever.

“So why did you come so early?”

Great Caesar. Clark immediately wanted to take his words back. That sounded so much like he wanted to get rid of Kon, which he didn’t, but he was curious why they had to be so awkward so early in the morning.

“Actually, I wanted to…” Kon started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “I wanted to, er, talk. With, with _you_.”

For a man who could see practically halfway across the world, Clark hadn’t seen that coming.

“I just wanted to say that…”

 _Bzzzt_.

Message from Cassie, who hadn’t realized he was already at the mansion either. _Going after Zach & Tim_, it said, _meet us at the jet_.

Kon sighed.

“We’ll talk,” Clark told him, seriously and a little too desperately for his taste. But he _wanted_ to hear what Kon had to say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kon’s spirits seemed lifted at once. Clark never understood why his words had so much impact on everyone.

“I’ll hold you to that, old man.”

“I’m not – ugh.” Kon was already gone. Clark patted the side of his eyes, looking for wrinkles, “I’m not _old_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time where Bart knew the difference between an other dimension and an alternate reality despite never having read a library in this world? Turns out it wasn't luck.
> 
> Yeah i kinda messed up the timeline a bit (it was bound to happen), so Zach vs Giovanni's going to have to wait until i untangle the small knot I made. But hey, I'm still alive!!!
> 
> NEXT UP (I'm not making any promises, but I think it's become obvious that these do not necessarily mean in the next chapter due to my poor planning skills): Diana is not amused, Zach is a little bit amused, and gee, it's been a while since we last saw Talia (spoilers: she's hasn't forgotten about her son or Tim).


	27. A day in the life of a League of Assassins pseudo-accountant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i swear im not dead
> 
> In which people are either really dizzy or plotting against Bruce Wayne. On the bright side, Zach makes another friend. On the not so bright sight, Helena might possibly lose one.

**RECAP** :

  * _Bruce and Diana just had a staged fight on top of Diana’s invisible jet, because Bruce needed someone to see him as a bad guy, apparently to save the lives of Azrael, Man-Bat, and Huntress. The Soldier interrupted the fight, and Bruce took advantage of it to put Harper Row in the Soldier’s custody, so as to get the policemen’s children back home. Zachary remained in the jet even as Diana reclaimed it. She doesn’t know he’s there._
  * _Giovanni Zatara is an asshole with a mind-wiping habit._
  * _Giovanni Zatara kidnapped Tim._
  * _Selina had a mental breakdown upon arriving to this world which Diana witnessed._
  * _Ted is alive, but only Zach, Bruce, and Bette know about it (and the Hive)_
  * _Babs is being blackmail by Lex to work against Bruce._
  * _The League of Assassin has been randomly attacking Lex Corp buildings._
  * _Steph is actually the one making plans right now, and she’s organized a meeting with the whole community so the ‘ghost of Zatanna’ (AKA Selina) can explained what happened to the JSA, even though she has actually no clue what did happen. Most of her plans were tailored made to mind fuck Barbara._
  * _Bette Kane AKA Flamebird AKA Plebe was tasked by the Soldier to investigate James Gordon’s disappearance. Kate has suspected her of acting on the side before._
  * _Cassie has decided that the Bats could go fuck themselves and that Young Justice would find Tim themselves._
  * _Damian and Tim are under illusion spells to look like Impulse and Blue Beetle (jr) respectively_
  * _Cheshire is being held prisoner by Man-Bat, Azrael, and Huntress after she found out about Dami being alive._
  * _Roy is a spy working for Checkmate._



_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

 

 

 

At his demand, Diana had left the matter of the blue haired girl and the policemen’s children to the Soldier. She had much to mull over anyways. It seemed every encounter with Wayne just added to her stack of questions. Besides, she was tired. Everyone was, but her especially. She was chasing around answers non-stop, and she just knew there was an easier way to get there, a smarter way. That there was a small sliver of knowledge that could help her decipher everything that was happening. 

She had expected her flight back to be a moment of peace, to think on that. Expected, being the keyword.

Halfway through the flight, Diana’s wrist suddenly flared up – like it was being crushed by Atlas’s burden, and before she could even think of checking it, the pain spread to her head, sharp, suffocating. Flashes of colours burned her eyes, and screams that resonated between her ears. Her balance was completely disturbed – up, down, left, right, none of it meant anything. Diana let herself fall to the floor of her jet, desperate for even an inch more of stability.

She could barely breathe.

A list of possible enemies sprung to her mind – Count Vertigo, Circe, Starro, anyone liable of pushing thoughts into someone else’s head, anyone capable of taking Diana by complete surprise – and immediately she was ready to give back as good as she had gotten, even against the searing headache that was still ringing. But a glint of gold caught her eye – around her wrist, right where the attack had started. It was her lasso – which meant she had not received a hit, but rather a revelation.

Especially since her aggressor was looking about ten times as terrified of her as she was of him.

In one arm, Zachary Zatara was holding the other end of her lasso like it was a wriggling baby he didn’t know what to do with. The other hand was palm facing her, as if a measly hand would have been enough to stop Diana had she wished him harm. Still, she supposed it was a better reflex than having no guard up at all. Zachary clearly had no intention to take her on, not with all his weight shifted on his back leg as it was. 

The Amazon groaned as she pulled herself off the floor. Gods, her lasso packed a mean punch for a pacifist weapon.

“I should have known only a Zatara had the sleight of hand to take my lasso without me being any wiser of it,” she opened once she had regained enough to strength to function.

“Uh, are you okay?” The magician asked awkwardly. The poor boy had obviously never thought he’d put down Wonder Woman, and now that he had, his mind wasn’t processing it correctly. “You look like shit.”

“I am confused as to what you are doing in my plane and why I had such a strong adverse reaction to my lasso,” she replied earnestly, “but physically, there is nothing wrong.”

“Great. I, uh, I need your help,” Zachary told her, scratching his neck.

“Odd way of asking, Zachary,” she pointed out, leaning on the command board of her jet. Her mind was still swimming. “But I’m all ears.”

“I… Did the lasso not…?” the boy tried, watching her as if expecting something. 

“The lasso?” Diana repeated, “It…” 

The images. She was finally seeing them clearly, not amalgamated to each other. Those were, those were memories. _Her_ memories. Memories that were –

Diana couldn’t get sick naturally, but damn if these didn’t want to make her retch.

“Oh gods,” she heard herself whimper..

The violence was nothing new in her life. Death was nothing new. Losing a friend wasn’t either, unfortunately. But this – Diana couldn’t tell what was that churning in her stomach. Horror at what she was seeing, anger at what it meant, fear that she had been fooled, or scalding shame and guilt over just about everything contained in those memories?

She managed to hold her tears back by some miracle. It was disrespectful to cry at that moment. Crying only came when everything was resolved. It was the Amazon way; she didn’t have time to cry when such darkness was allowed to roam free. Fighting came first. Always.

“Wonder Woman…” Zachary started, but he flinched and backed up as soon as her eyes met his.

She wondered what he was seeing in them. He knew what her rage could do.

No. She shouldn’t find satisfaction in the tempest that were her emotions.

Diana reigned her tantrum back. She had never been disrespected like that, humiliated, _violated_ in such a perverse way. She had never felt so small and so angry before. She wanted nothing more than to lash out, but it wouldn’t do any good.

She took a deep breath, and relaxed her limbs. There was a dent in command board where her hands had been gripping it. Selina’s outburst was starting to make much more sense than she was comfortable with.

“Fuck,” Zachary swore, “he really did it.” 

For a few moments Diana was incapable of moving or talking. Her mind was caught up, but it was as though she had lost all footing – as though all she could think to do was scream. But she swallowed it. Closed her eyes for a few seconds. Tried to regain control of her rampant panic.

“You weren’t sure,” she finally deduced, carefully controlling her voice. It came out much weaker, barely higher than a whisper. Her anger was rightful, but Zachary was far from deserving to be at its end. She wouldn’t give him any further reason to fear her.

Her words seemed to confirm his worst fears though.

And she knew what it meant that he recognized her turmoil like he was looking in a mirror. He was just a kid for gods’ sake! 

“Fuck. Fuck, _fuck_.”

Normally, she’d ask him to mind his language. This time though, his language seemed rather appropriate.

“What do you need?” She asked him instead. He could ask for her beating heart and she was ready to give it to him.

“Giovanni,” he told her, “I need him away from Shadowcrest for a few hours.”

Giovanni. The name alone was filling her with disgust. 

“Done.”

“Also I need to borrow your lasso,” he added, a bit more hesitant. 

“Doable, but I ‘d rather like an explanation.”

“Te – shit, er, _someone_ told me you personally had an affinity with the truth. I don’t think Giovanni will be able to manipulate your memories now that you’re aware of what he can do, even without our lasso. I’m gonna make a quick trip to Shadowcrest though, and chances are his defense will not be conscious of what they’re doing.”

Diana paused. “Any reason why I couldn’t go with you?” 

“We need someone to distract the asshole, I mean, er, _him_ ,” he explained, “and we can’t afford to bring anyone else in this. We risk either having him notice what we’re doing, or someone else regaining their memories.”

“You were fine with me getting mine back.”

“You can take it.”

His assumption was almost cruel, but it was nothing if not true. She had every bit of respect for her peers, but they were either too selfless or too involved. The selfless would break upon getting those memories back, and the involve would act on them without thinking. They were like rock hard trees in front of a tidal wave; too stubborn to live. Diana however, could break however much was needed; she was flexible enough to bend with the wave and take the pressure. 

Diana was a warrior of truth, but she honestly couldn’t tell if she wanted it known this time. Not this truth. Not considering what it would do to her friends. No one deserved this. _She_ didn’t deserve this, but neither did Zachary deserve fighting this war with minimal support.

“And I won’t be alone,” the boy continued, pointing at his ear.

Diana glanced at the comm. piece he was wearing.

“Wayne,” she concluded. It only made sense. That was how he’d gotten in her jet. “I’d like an explanation for that too. I have far too many questions about the man for the amount of answers I’ve had up until now. I am _tired_ of chasing half-truths.”

“Once this is over, I’ll tell you everything,” Zachary promised, “but right now I _really_ need to get to Shadowcrest. For Tim.”

Tim. Anything for her son.

“I am holding you to that, Zachary Zatara,” she warned him, as she handed him the golden lariat. Even then she was still screaming inside. She wondered if there would ever be a time again where she would not be.

* * *

The worst was, Barbara _knew_ she was being distracted. Not completely, she was keenly aware Bruce’s plan laid somewhere within this madness, but for the life of hers, she couldn’t figure out where. There were just so many things happening at once – Helena hitting up LexCorp warehouses, Dick and Jason piecing together a network, Bruce making a grand show of fighting Diana, Wonder Girl graffiti-ing the Hall of Justice, the_midnighter’s attacks on her servers…

Part of her wanted to dismiss everything as a plot to mess with her mind, which it probably was. Nonetheless, knowing Bruce, and knowing how infuriatingly brilliant the man could be, it was highly likely that the slither of action she’d pass as a flash grenade would be his Horse of Troy.

Or maybe It wouldn’t be. Maybe this wasn’t nearly as elaborate as she was expecting. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was a _possibility_ , and that just because of that, she _had_ to look into every incident, however related to the Bats it was. Who even knew who they had managed to lure to their side?

The alarm blared again.

Barbara closed her eyes. She couldn’t even say for sure that this wasn’t Bruce’s doing. She wanted to believe that he was above teaming up with the League of Assassins, she really wanted to, but…

Let’s face it, he wasn’t.

“ _Barbara_!” Luthor barked through her computer. God, she wished she could put him on silence.

“I don’t know!” She snapped at him, “read the fucking polygraph, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know why the League of Assassins suddenly declared war on LexCorp!”

“ _You said Nemesis and that other League of Assassin man were bats_ ,” Luthor hissed, “ _surely this must be part of Wayne’s plan_!”

“They’re not killing anyone so it probably is,” Barbara admitted, “but dammit, I can’t read his mind. I don’t know what his endgoal is. And having you _yelling in my ear_ won’t help me find out faster!”

This was controlled chaos, an artistic masterpiece.

Even as the Calculator she couldn’t get any information regarding the League’s motif for this madness. Ra’s had cut off all communications with her, and she hated that she couldn’t tell why. Had they found out she was Gorgon? That she worked for Luthor? Ra’s had proved himself perfectly willing to work with him in the past, if bitch-Babs’s records were correct. So was this really Bruce?

If it was, it reeked desperation.

She was mildly impressed by how sloppy and loose everything was. She knew Bruce could sometimes be… a bit... inconsiderate. Still, more than anyone, he tried hard to keep every variable in mind, and stirring up so many beehives wasn’t like him. He was acting on too big of a scale, creating ripples wider than he had any right to.

The most recent news she had received was the final straw.

A general meeting of superheroes? Pretending Zatanna was _alive_? What was he _thinking_? There was no way he knew what had happened to the JSA, or he would never have allowed this. Yet, she knew it was him. She knew Selina had awoken in this world as well. She knew Cassandra was at her bedside.

Which meant he had called the meeting despite knowing there was probably something out there capable of taking out the whole JSA, and without any idea of how to keep it out.

Barbara absent-mindedly caressed the bump on her stomach she had become accustomed to. Being in this world had stressed her more than she could ever recall having been before. Not even Bruce could remain unmoved by all this. And when Bruce got paranoid…

Ra’s and contingency plans. Brother Eye. To name a few.

Being in another world did not change who they were. Just because she couldn’t wear the golden bat anymore didn’t mean she had given up on its values. Being in another world was not an excuse. He was meant to know that. This world’s Ted Kord had already died because of them, wasn’t it enough?

Bruce was going too far.

The red head slid out one of Ted’s mini beetle drones from the cushion of her wheelchair. He had built them for stealth, and Ted was nothing if not a genius. They had already been of great use to her, even though she tried to only use them for emergencies.

This was how she had gotten in contact with Vicki, and it was how she would do so again.

Without looking, and because she knew she was being watched, Barbara tapped a message in Morse code into it. Bruce wasn’t the only one with contingency plans.

_Plan Thompkins is go. Use the coming superhero meeting._

The next second, the drone was gone, and Barbara was once more left alone in the dark room of screens Luthor had all but locked her in.

Ha. As if that had ever stopped Oracle.

* * *

 

The warmth almost made him flinch. Almost. He hadn’t felt a touch in weeks, maybe a full month? Maybe more? He’d lost track of time. They gave him barely enough water and food to survive, and Jim’s mind wasn’t all where it was supposed to be.

That might have been the only reason he barely reacted when someone wearing a gas mask was shaking him awake. They were the definition of ominous, all in black and with guns and grenades hanging from every pocket, but Jim didn’t care. Their touch was warm, and that was the most comfortable thing he’d felt in forever.

“Batman?” He asked. It couldn’t have been him. Not dressed like that. Not carrying those. But if Jim’s men hadn’t been able to find him in so long, then who else?

“Well that answers one of my questions,” the figure said, voice muffled but a voice distorter, “we need to get you out of here commish.”

An arm slithered behind his back, and he was suddenly pulled up. The stranger was shorter than him, but not by much.

“Who are you?” he found the energy to ask.

“Call me Plebe,” the stranger said, “and this is going to sound weird, but you’re in another dimension.”

Another dimension. Really. Why not.

“’arbara?” he asked next.

“Your daughter?” the stranger answered, “I don’t really know that much about our situation, but from what I understand, she’s physically safer than any of us.”

“Good.”

 _Splotch_.

Their feet were wet. They were in a sewer. He’d notice the smell during his first few days in the tiny cell that had been his home.

_Splotch. Splotch._

That wasn’t them. They’d stopped.

Jim felt the stranger’s shoulders relax.

“Thank God,” they breathed, “help me carry him out, he needs medical attention.”

Two more strangers were in the sewers, dressed like the first one. Taller, both of them. One had a red band on their arm. His rescuer had an orange one, he now noticed.

“Guys?” the first stranger asked, when their peers made no move to help.

“Put him back in the cell,” one of the newcomers said.

The first stranger spluttered, “Are you _insane_? Did you see how they were treating him? And _you_ gave me this job!”

“Things have changed,” the armbandless one, who was also the tallest, said with authority.

“What things have changed?” the first stranger growled.

It was the wrong thing to say. Jim found himself completely thrown into the sewer puddle. For a while his head was swirling too much to comprehend much of anything – but then he peeked upwards, and saw the orange armband stranger being pinned against the wall by the red one.

“You’ve been hiding things from us,” the red one revealed, “it needs to _stop_.”

* * *

The thing people rarely realised about leading the League of Assassins, was that it was a lot of administrative work. It was bound to be, with how many assets they had in however many countries they had set root in. Still, Talia wasn’t sure how she felt about acting like an accountant on her days off. It was an honour that her father trusted her so much, she supposed, but sitting at a desk for hours and signing papers was just not as glamorous as the Al Ghul lifestyle was advertised to be.

Luckily, boring desk jobs were just not a real thing when one was the Daughter of the Demon, mother of Leviathan and voted most dangerous woman of the Year in the Times magazine every year since 2010.

In fact, it was only thirty minutes after she had sat down to check on the state of affairs in Taiwan that a bunch of teenagers came crashing through her window, still swatting ninjas off their ankles.

Security at Headquarters wasn’t the best, granted, but most heroes were too smart to barge in.

“Wonder Girl and co,” Talia smiled pleasantly, “to what do I owe this surprise?”

“We know you’re blackmailing Tim,” the demigod declared, landing in front of her desk, “I figured you must have a way to contact him, or at least know where he is.”

Talia paused to consider.

“Then you know Timothy Drake is working for Wayne,” she guessed. She didn’t look any of them in the eye, paying more attention to her work. She knew it was driving them mad.

“The whole community knows by now,” ‘Impulse’ huffed.

“Fair,” Talia shrugged it off, crossing off an accounting mistake she came across. They really had to get rid of that intern. “you’ve clearly come here hoping for a favour. Why should I grant you one?”

“Tim killed your son,” Superboy reminded her, and that certainly got her attention, though not how they imagined, “we’re going to bring him to justice.”

A lie. How bold. She liked it.

Oh, Talia knew her son was still alive. She knew Young Justice was working with the Bats. She knew all about Barbatros and Zachary Zatara. But this, this was _interesting_. Young Justice, sidekicks extraordinaire, turning to deception and making deals with the League of Assassins? Their mentors would be disappointed. These children were trying to pretend they were going dark, and Talia wasn’t so sure it didn’t suit them.

This could only go her way. When would people learned you don’t just _use_ Talia Al Ghul?

“And what makes you think I haven’t already sent my own men after him?”

“If you had, and it’d have worked, we would have found his body,” Impulse pointed out, “The League probably wants it known what happens to people who kill their own.”

Damian, Damian, Damian. Six year old girls did not speak like that. His whole education needed redoing. Acting was an essential part in life.

“We know Tim,” Wonder Girl insisted, “and we’re better than your men. All we need is to know where.”

She was taking a gamble, affirming this. But her confidence was true, and Talia was a bit impressed. Yes, they were raw and rough around the edges, and frankly clumsy in terms of mind games, but they had _potential_. Talia wanted to sponsor them almost out of pure curiosity.

She laughed, “Very well. Let’s put this at test, shall we? Timothy Drake is being held by Lex Luthor, in his main skyscraper. You will bring me back a lock of his hair as a trophy, or I will make sure your mentors hear about this exchange.”

Cassandra Sandsmark nodded. “You will have your revenge.”

And like that they were gone.

Talia pushed her work aside, and leaned back on her chair, rhythmically swivelling it slightly left and right.

Times were changing. Luthor and Wayne’s egos had kick started a period of disarray, and it was during periods like these that it was essential to take advantage of everything and anything. The League, as a neutral party, were at the most opportunistic position to be, and Talia could be damned if she wasn’t going to make the most of it. These ‘Bats’, Luthor, the superheroes, and whatever Giovanni Zatara’s role in this mess was, were too busy fighting each other to surveil the League’s actions. More than that, they were all willing to make deals with the devil, and Talia would gladly sit at Hell’s throne if it meant reaping all these souls.

Few understood, that the world continued to turn even during these crises.

Still, she had to be careful. Too much meddling, and they’d notice.

A conference call rang on her computer.

It was her ten fifteen appointment. She picked it up. Immediately, she was met with sharp blue eyes, and a face full of bruises.

Talia had dealt with Bruce Wayne before. Anyone with half a decent business had. Back then, she’d found him intelligent and ruthless, but nowhere an equal. He had lacked conviction, heart. He was a man with endless genius and ambition, but just as prevalent laziness and debauchery. He was a man out for himself. There was nothing noble about Bruce Wayne save for his family – which he had disowned anyway.

The man in front of her though, gave her reason to pause. It wasn’t just the fact that the million dollar suits had been replaced by a basic cotton T-shirt. Or that his hair wasn’t gelled back and his wrists bare of fancy watches.

It was that he looked at her straight in the eyes, rather than at her cleavage.

He made a startling contrast to Wonder Girl. Even with the obvious upper hand Talia had, he kept her on guard. She knew how closely she was dodging the bullet – how it was pure damn luck alone that had her on top. Because if her spy hadn’t stumbled on the truth by happenstance, she wasn’t so sure she’d had seen through his act, and it scared her. This was someone who had an intimate relationship with darkness, someone who _breathed_ deceit. Her sources claimed he was the father of her son in his world, and if her counterpart had deemed him worthy, then Talia couldn’t afford to slip.

“I must say, that was an impressive fight against Wonder Woman,” she told him, “I was tempted to think it was a set up,” Wayne gave no reaction – not even the slightest catch of breath – and it grated her, “but I must say, I don’t think you’d have risked that blue haired girl’s life if you were her ally. Not only that, but it takes a special kind of coldness to keep so many children hostages for so long.”

“You disapprove?”

He was acting nothing like this world’s Bruce Wayne would have, and Talia knew he had to suspect that. But his performance was so fluid, so solid – It was as if he himself was convinced he was just as heartless as his counterpart, and that made Talia want to believe it too. He acted like he wasn’t acting.

“Hypocrisy is not my style,” she shrugged, “I’m League of _Assassins_ as well. We don’t discriminate between our victims. I just didn’t think it was within your… Capabilities.”

“Would your Bruce Wayne not have done the same?”

 _Her_ Bruce Wayne. A discreet possessive word. Small, but effective. He was a meticulous actor.

“Not himself,” Talia allowed, “but then again, he clearly didn’t have the same physical training you did.”

“It is _very_ good training,” the man smirked, a bit cheekily – mischievous, but just as fond and soft, as if he was sweet talking his lover, wistful. Which, if she were to believe his lies, he was.

Four days after Bruce Wayne had been caught by and escaped the Justice League along with his associates, Azrael, Man-Bat and Nemesis had returned to her. It hadn’t taken long for her father to uncover them as traitors. The former two had shown little concern that their longtime lover Cheshire was missing, and Nemesis had seemingly forgotten why she had left the League of Assassins in the first place. They were immediately thrown in the dungeons.

The next day, her personal spy came baring interesting information on Bruce Wayne. The Zatara kid had somehow brought another Wayne from another dimension, one who was a hero rather than a corporate mongul. All the other individuals acting grossly out of character were his sidekicks, including her son Damian, who was very much alive.

The day after that one, Wayne got in touch with her through Catgirl to bargain for the three hostages lives. She had been surprised by how many cards he had revealed – a move she had first thought foolish, but then revaluated as the best lies were the ones with the most truth to support them. Wayne had told her all about being an interdimensional traveller. He had told her that her son was alive. He had told her that Damian was _his_ where he came from.

And then he’d told her that in his world, he held her Bane’s place within the League of Assassins.

He had intimate knowledge of the League, of _her_ , to back it up.

Still, she didn’t believe him. She trusted her spy with her life. But she had to pretend to consider it, if only just so he wouldn’t catch on. Wayne contacting her was a gift in disguise. She could _use_ him, as clueless as he was.

She had given him a challenge to prove that he wasn’t secretly working for the Justice League. He had ordered his three allies to submit themselves to her, and had somehow gotten Wonder Woman, who was to Talia’s knowledge still supposed to think he had slaughtered the old heroes, to cooperate. They had fought publicly, and he had the bruises to show she hadn’t been pulling her punches – or at least not too much.

And then there was the blue haired girl. She wasn’t one of them, one of those extraordinary people with the strength of an army. She wasn’t even a sidekick. Yet he had picked her for this set up, and put her through risks no hero would purposely put another child through. Maybe she was more than she seemed. Maybe she was the one who had convinced him to bring her. Talia wasn’t sure. Either way, child endangerment was the perfect excuse to fake her newly found trust in him.

She sighed, “You’re off my list, _for now_ ,” she told him coldly, “and so are your minions. But if you are League of Assassins as you claim to be, then surely you wouldn’t be opposed to helping your allegiance’s counterpart?”

He hesitated, but not long enough to be incriminating. “If it is within my power, I will do anything for you.”

A real prince charming.

It sounded so sincere, it had Talia wondering how much her counterpart and this Bruce Wayne actually loved each other.

“I need you to sign a paper,” she told him, “giving all of Bruce Wayne’s money to Ra’s Al Ghul.”

“This Bruce Wayne’s accounts have been frozen,” he reminded her, “he has no fortune.”

“That’s for me to worry about,” she smiled.

“I am not in measure to get in touch with Catgirl at the moment,” he admitted, “but as soon as it is possible, you’ll have your signature.”

No doubt his mind was whirling, trying to figure out how to ensure the accounts remain frozen. If her spy had analysed the ‘Bat’ clique correctly, then they weren’t the type to give considerable amounts of money to known killers.

“My counterpart is a lucky woman.”

“And mine has missed out on a great deal,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Contact me when you’re able to sign,” she concluded.

He nodded, and she hung up.

That one conversation had been more exhausting that a fight with Deathstroke.

Unfortunately, her day was nowhere near done.

“Nemesis, reporting for duty,” Nemesis – or Huntress as she was apparently called back in her dimension – walked in, kneeling in front Talia. “The Texas LexLab has been wired and is ready to blow any moment now. Azrael has retrieved the data from Lex Tower.”

This Helena Bertinelli was a very different woman from theirs. Whereas Nemesis was arguable insane, the Huntress was simply driven and efficient. There was a certain form of ruthlessness that Talia had come not to expect from heroes in the way she fought. She fought to bring pain and punishment, and sometimes not so much for the sake of a better world. Yet she didn’t let her thirst for revenge drive her to the point of thinking herself the hand that delivers God willed punishment, which was what had cost Nemesis her League membership. She was humble, despite having all the skills needed not to have to be.

“Yes, your boss has been fulfilling his tasks as asked too,” she acknowledged.

“He’s not one to accept failure.”

“I can see that.”

Talia flipped the page she was working on. She needed a brief time to think. She had arranged for Young Justice to be hitting Lex Tower soon – and that presented her with a perfect opportunity to reveal more of the Bats’ hand. But she needed that signature before, which meant she couldn’t turn Bruce Wayne against her yet.

Or, she could kill two birds with one stone, and that Barbara Gordon-Kord was the perfect stone.

“I have your next job,” Talia told the woman in front of her.

“I’m at your service.”

“There is going to be quite a ruckus at Lex Tower soon,” she said, “another one. Take advantage of it and sneak inside. Find this woman,”

she turned her screen so the Huntress could see the picture of the red headed woman. A flash of recognition passed through her eyes. Interesting.

“And eliminate her.”

Talia could see the woman grinding her teeth. Friends, perhaps?

“I thought you and Mr. Wayne had a deal,” she pointed out.

“Yes, no killing, in case we accidentally target a Bat we didn’t know of,” Talia rehashed, before grinning like a shark, “but this woman has been actively fighting you every step of the way. I am relatively certain she cannot possibly be one of you. Or do you have reasons to believe otherwise?”

It was very clear the Huntress wanted to punch Talia in the teeth.

“None,” she said instead, “It, it will be done.”

“Very well, you’re dismissed.”

The young woman wanted to say something, probably yell something not very flattering, but she held back. She nodded, and walked off.

It saddened Talia a bit, to see talent wasted. She could tell the Huntress had learnt to fight at street level, and she could only imagine how perfect a weapon she would have been had the League taken her in. As skilled as Nemesis, but nowhere as uncontrollable.

Speaking of controllable, Talia turned on the feed from a dungeon room of Nanda Parbat. She had become so paranoid ever since she had started dealing with Wayne and the bats. She almost expected to see the room empty and her spy knocked out.

It wasn’t the case, though, but she had needed the reassurance.

“My lady,” her spy greeted her, mockingly, but she forgave him. He was one of the few she considered a true friend, after all.

“ _You_ ,” the prisoner growled, fuming. He had been sleeping so far, and it was no doubt the first time he found out who his real captor was, “you will not get away with this. They’re going to come for me, and you will regret it!”

Talia almost felt bad for the ‘Bats.’ They just didn’t understand. With how little they knew of this world and their predisposition for manipulative planning, the more they fought back, the more tangled they would get.

“And _you_ ,” Timothy added, glaring scathingly at the man Talia had tasked to keep an eye on him, the man Giovanni had delivered him to, the man now making sure he wouldn’t try escaping, “I can’t believe you. Your Tim trusts you, he _loves_ you!”

“His mistake,” Arsenal replied coldly, “you said it yourself, Red Robin, I’m a _spy_ by trade. Now, tell me: where. Is. _Cheshire_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up or up next (though not sure if in the immediate next chapter of later): Fun times in Shadowcrest: Zach gets pissed at Zatanna, and rescues his rescuers, by complete accident. Less fun times in Lex Corp: everything sucks for everyone except the League of Assassins. Things suck particularly badly for Lex, but unfortunately that doesn't entail anything good for our heroes either, for whom everything will still suck. There will be stabbing. Less stabbing at the Watchtower, but a lot of disappointment going all around. Oliver Queen mopes around a bit more. I swear I actually really like him. I don't know why I made his life so terrible in this story.


	28. Murder Is Always A Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since I left you guys hanging for months and the previous chapter really wasn't the best, here's the next one!
> 
> Because after all the twists and turns, all the betrayals and manipulations, all the confrontations and fights, Raven claims that the most important character in all this is... Cyborg? What? Meanwhile, Zach finds Tim in Shadowcrest, except that as we all know, Tim is Nanda Parbat. Hence, again, what? Dick and Jason are tired of all these 'whats'. Dick especially. Dick kind of snaps. No more nice Dick.

**RECAP** :

\- Jason, Dick, and Vicki figured out that Steph and Bruce's mindfuck plan was not just about distracting Babs, but them as well.  
\- The Titans believe Dick and Jason killed Ted, and have been hunting them down  
\- When he first arrived in this world, Dick was vouched for by Raven  
\- Tim and Raven had a conversation in Tim's mindspace  
\- Tim is currently under an illusion to look like Blue Beetle, who's apparantly somewhere in space with Guy Gardner.  
\- Eddie, the Red Devil, was grievously injured by Damian and decided to quit Young Justice because of it  
\- Giovanni Zatara has in the past mind controlled Zach for weeks at a time, and has more recently kidnapped Traci, Lori, and Tim.  
\- Zach figured out how the JSA massacre happened.  
\- Zach made Diana remember something last chapter, borrowed her lasso, and asked her to distract GIovanni while he makes an excursion to Shadowcrest, where he believes Tim is held.  
\- Bruce threw Harper off Diana's invisible jet to get Diana to go after her while he took on the soldier.  
\- Dick was present when Ted 'died', and Jason was the one to rescue Dick from the situation.  
\- Bruce helped Ted fake his death. Only the Hive, Bruce, Flamebird, and Zach know. Vicki suspects.  
\- The Soldier and Cadet cornered Flamebird

.....

...

..

.

 

 

“Maybe next time, we should steal a car?”

Jason and Dick gave Vicki a slightly disturbed look.

“Okay, first of all,” the woman pointed out, gesturing at Jason, “ _you_ _’_ _re_ a crime lord. An _you_ ,” Dick, “will not have me believe that you never tried hijacking the Batmobile.”

“Hey, I stole _plenty_ of cars,” Dick protested in feeble defense of his character, “not just my dad’s.”

It was Dick’s turn to be scrutinised. 

“Not a competition, got it,” he quickly recovered. Gothamites had a certain unexplained pride when it came to minor felonies. Vicki could relate; she had once gotten in trouble in high school trying to prove that she was capable of scoring more drugs than her friends, even though she had never touched the substance before. Committing your first crime was the Gotham equivalent of a rite of passage. Which crime people chose was what was telling of their alignment.

Good citizens smuggled, bribed or stole. Bad citizens murdered.

Yeah, Gotham wasn’t the best reference for law upholding. Shocking. Take any class of ten year olds and forty percent knew how to pick easy locks.

“Motorcycles aren’t meant to carry three people,” Vicki reminded them, gesturing at the worn out bike that had brought them where they were.

“Tell that to South East Asia,” Jason deadpanned. 

Dick shrugged, “More maneuverability. And it’s easier to throw Jason off if he’s being annoying.”

“Uhm, right _here_.”

“ _You_ lost all complaining privilege when you got Luthor’s men to follow us systematically for days,” Dick declared with a true Batman’s authority.

“Fair,” Jason amended, “what are we doing here now?”

It was night, pitch black, and they were somewhere in countryside, deep enough that no light was there to provide any visibility whatsoever. The road wasn’t tarmacked, and the closest neighbors were probably llamas. Yet even the middle of nowhere seemed to have some sort of importance, as Dick walked up to the house they had stopped in front of. It was big – family with eight kids and a live-in grandmother big, but nothing fancy.

A lot of ominous though. 

A few dreamcatchers were hanging over the porch, and what looked like a voodoo doll (stabbed multiple times with a miniature axe, something that looked like blood but Vicki wasn’t going to check it out to tell for sure was oozing from the wounds) had been left out by the ratty welcome mat. The window shutters were creaking despite the wind being soft and silent.

The porch didn’t have a light. From outside, Vicki wasn’t even sure if the house had electricity at all. The wood was dirty and nibbled at its corners and were it not for the modern intercom next to the door, it could have passed for some archaic world heritage site.

Clearly Jason was coming to same conclusion as her.

“I know what I did was pretty shitty,” he told Dick, “but remember Bruce’s motto, murder is _never_ the solution.”

“I didn’t bring you here because it was a perfect murder spot,” Dick sighed, unamused.

“No one around for miles, an accomplice to help dig the grave, creepy haunted house…” Vicki enumerated, “should I go look for a shovel?”

“It’s a murder spot,” Jason nodded.

“It is not – ugh, _fine_. It’s a murder spot, but that’s _not_ why I brought you here.”

Vicki raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

“It will be if you continue this,” Dick warned.

“Murder spot?” Jason asked, “Where? I don’t see no murder spot.”

Dick rang the doorbell. But instead of a bell, another sound came out. More loud. More techno. More cute. More…

More anime.

Dick didn’t even blink. Vicki really wanted to hide under a rock, and Jason was clearly very close to cutting Dick’s finger off so he’d stop playing the damn thing, but the older vigilante showed no shame at the anime music blasting out in the open air.

The music stopped.

“ _What_?” The intercom asked.

“Raven,” Dick greeted, “It’s Nightwing. We met before, remember?”

Strange choice. Dick had told them that they were striking off on their own and ignoring Bruce’s stupid orders for now, seeing as they were just meant to distract them. He’d decided their best bet was to learn more about the superheroes of this world, and had told them he knew of one that trusted him. 

“ _Hard to forget_.”

The way she said it was less friendly and more ‘ugh not that annoyance again’. Jason snickered. Dick didn’t seemed deterred the least though.

“Can we come inside?”

“ _I’m busy_ ,” Raven replied, and Vicki could hear the distinct soundtrack of the Sims in the background, “ _and even more if you’ve come here to yell at me or anything of the sort_.”

“Why would I yell at you?”

Dawn was starting to break, basking them in a fiery light. Except, it was eleven past midday, and the fiery light was way too intense, sudden, and warm to be something as harmless as dawn. Vicki turned around, and lo and behold, they were fucked.

“Nightwing,” Jason suddenly urged, having noticed the same. 

The intercom paused. “ _I take it you haven’t seen Timothy in a while_.”

Immediately, Dick had his face in the intercom like his life depended on it, “You’ve spoken to _Tim_? How is he? Where is he?”

“Nightwing!” Vicki insisted, tapping the man’s back frantically.

“ _Too many questions, I’m out_.”

“What? No, Raven, please, we need your he--!”

“Hey look it’s Oracle in frilly lingerie!”

Dick should not have snapped around as quickly as he had. He also should have noticed there’d been intruders behind them, considering the amount of light one of them emitted, and how dark it’d been before their arrival.

“Got your attention _now_ , asshole?” Jason growled.

He had both his handguns out, and Vicki subtly placing herself behind him, so as to make him her shield. Encircling the porch, the Titans. 

Troia stepped forward as leader. Her hair was disheveled and she was still putting strands of it back in order. They had clearly gotten here by speedster transport. The guns didn’t faze her.

“Nightwing, Black Mask,” she started, “we’re taking you in on account of your participation in Ted Kord’s murder.”

“Technically, I’m not Black Mask anym—“

“We didn’t kill Ted,” Dick informed them, serious, “I swear it wasn’t us. We’re being framed.”

“That’s what the person who killed Ted would say,” the White Flash, Wally West, pointed out, squinting his eyes at them.

“It’s also what someone who _didn’t_ kill Ted Kord and got framed for it would say,” Vicki countered.

“Who is that woman?” She heard Starfire ask Arsenal.

“Beats me.”

Troia rubbed the bridge of her nose, “Alright, stupid argument anyways. Let’s stop acting like _five year olds_ ,” she glared at the White Flash, “and act like the adults we all are. Come peacefully, and we can discuss this.”

“But if you have anything to do with the Cyborg’s disappearance,” Starfire warned them, “there will be consequences.”

Troia nodded.

“Fuck no,” Jason suddenly groaned, “That’s it. No more fucking twists. No. We’re fucking saturated. Tired of this shit. I don’t give a fuck who goes missing or who dies anymore we’re _out_.”

Dick was more intelligible, “What do you mean Cyborg’s _missing_?" 

From behind, the intercom fizzed to life.

“ _They have nothing to do with Cyborg_ _’_ _s disappearance_ ,” Raven said, “ _But they can help you find him_.”

“Raven!” Starfire smiled, “It was good to hear of you! Thank you for telling us they were here.”

“ _I only told you so you could use them to find Cyborg_ ,” Raven informed them, “ _more than anything, finding him is a priority_.”

“They have nothing to do with Ted’s death either?” Troia asked. By her voice, Vicki could guess than any answer that vaguely implicated the two in Kord’s murder was a deal breaker for any sort of truce.

“ _They did not kill him_ ,” Raven confirmed, “ _I can’t tell you more. You need to stop looking for Cyborg. It won’t end well if you Titans go. But Nightwing and his cohort can do it in your stead_.”

“I don’t trust them,” the White Flash grimaced.

“ _Trust me_ ,” Raven challenged him.

“How about you take a hostage?” Dick suddenly spoke up. “Insurance that we won’t betray you.”

“What?” Arsenal asked.

“You’ve seen how far we’re willing to go for each other,” Dick explained, “we stormed the Watchtower just to get Bruce. Tim put the League of Assassins on his back to fake Damian’s death. You can’t trust our alignment, but you can trust that we won’t abandon one another.”

Troia hesitated, scouring the boy for any tells, but ultimately nodded. She seemed tense, and serious, but not antagonistic, or at least less than her peers. She had the face of someone doing their job, not someone out for a personal vendetta.

She didn’t believe Dick had killed Kord. Or at least, she didn’t want to. To be fair, it was very hard not to trust Richard Grayson when he was looking at you with such an earnest expression. The kid’s face was a weapon in itself. 

“So keep Vicki with you,” he said.

Say what?

“Whoa, wait a second there, hotshot,” Vicki interrupted, “keep _whom_ as a hostage?”

“She’s a civilian,” Dick continued, ignoring Vicki and bargaining directly with the Titans’ head, “and she’s new to this, so there’s nothing to fear from her. She won’t try anything. Raven?”

“ _I am not a truth detector_ ,” the hermit growled, before admitting “ _but nonetheless he speaks the truth. This woman is unfit for battle_.”

Flattering. Exactly what every career woman wanted to hear.

“And you’ll make it your priority to find Cyborg?” Troia made sure.

“Yes. Trust me, we have nothing better to do.”

“You can’t be serious,” the White Flash scoffed, looking at the Amazon like she had grown an extra head.

“When has Raven ever led us astray?” She asked him. None of her teammates had an answer to that, so she turned back to Dick, “Fine. Give us the woman.”

“Vicki,” Vicki felt obliged to correct, as Jason shoved her forwards, “ _traitor_ ,” she whispered to him.

“Hey, you were the one complaining that three on a bike was too much,” the youngest smirked with no remorse.

That was not the solution she had been proposing. They knew that.

“Let’s go Titans,” Troia ordered as soon as she had a grip on Vicki’s arm. It was tight, but not painful at all. 

As she walked away with the Titans, she could still hear snippets of conversation between the two Batboys.

“See? Told you it was a good idea to come here,” Dick was boasting.

“Oh fuck off,” Jason scoffed, “don’t even _try_ to pass this off as your plan. You had no clue any of this shit was going to go down.”

“Objection. You have no proof of that claim.”

Jason didn’t even address the reply, “Why do I get the feeling that Vicki is less a hostage and more a way of tying down the Titans?”

Dick grinned. “That woman can be a real parasite when she wants to,” he shrugged, then, loud enough to make sure Vicki was hearing his next words, he added “And she’s damn good at what she does.”

Ah made sense, Vicki thought. Mission gather up dirt on this world’s superheroes is go.

* * *

For a family of Las Vegas showmen, the Zatara certainly had a taste for traditional gothic. Despite its name, the family mansion was not dark or rotting or anything of the sort. It was clean, neat, spacious, and it had every modern appliance required for comfort. But aesthetically, the house was straight from Victorian London, full of dark wood and royal furniture. Some rooms were the very stereotypes of suffocating dusty magical artefact storage rooms of course, but otherwise, this was a mansion meant to be lived in.

Zach hadn’t stepped inside Shadowcrest for the past two years. He had grown up there, and yet it held no memories he particularly cared for. His last memory of the place was when he’d woken up with a whole month missing, _again_ – and realised for the first time what that had meant.

It wasn’t difficult to get in, not with the lasso around his arm. For one, Zach was a Zatara by blood, which meant the mansion invited him in without problem. Other than that, Giovanni had two type of security measures around his mansion, the physical ones, which were a breeze for any Zatara, and the magical ones, which were full of deceit.

Zach barely blinked as Zatanna blocked his way, pleading him to turn back, aching in agony as he ignored her. The illusion dispelled as soon as he swiped his hand through it.

Truth was, Giovanni was one of the weakest Zatara to walk the earth, in terms of raw power. Unlike his son or his niece, he couldn’t affect reality. All he could do was drive minds into thinking he had. Convince people that reality had wrapped. But for being one of the weakest, he was also one of the most skilled magicians. His control over his minor abilities was flawless, precise and almost artistic – thankfully, the lasso of truth negated all his magic, as long as it was activated. 

He almost laughed at how easy it was, bitterly. Zach was very powerful, but his mind had always been weak to his father’s suggestions. Alone, he’d stand no chances against those ghosts, he knew. But in the end, Wayne was right. Giovanni has misjudged him. He didn’t expect Zach to just walk back into the mansion that had been a living nightmare for him, through the front door no less, nor did he expect him to go to anyone, and certainly not Wonder Woman, for help.

His mistake. 

The young magician strolled into the crystal room, a real collection of authentic tools for only the most powerful of seers. There was a wall covered in mirrors, which acted as surveillance cameras around the mansion. He used to stand there for hours, paranoid, waiting to see if his father was coming back yet. Hoping not.

A glimpse of blue caught his attention. There, in the dungeons. The illusions spell had not worn off.

“I found Tim,” he informed Wayne. 

Zach took off full speed. He’d been to the dungeons before, though not by choice. He knew how to get there, and his blood gave him access.

He paused as he stepped into the cold, humid caves under the mansion. The mansion had been built as a fortress, meant to withstand war, to hold war prisoners. Hence the dungeons had been enchanted to expand with every new prisoner.

Zach had never seen the dungeons so big.

There were about thirty cells, each holding someone. Some Zach had never seen. Others, were eerily familiar. The newest cell, closest to the door, could not have been created more than a few days before.

“Cyborg?” Zach whispered, examining the new prisoner through the bars, “ _why?_ ”

But there was no time. He shook off the question, and headed straight to Tim’s cell.

The displaced vigilante seemed to be sleeping, and Zach couldn’t blame him. These cells drained energy to keep everyone sedated, weakened. The Zatara’s enemies were more often than not of the magical persuasion.

The boy sat down, and opened the book he’d snagged from one of their libraries. Each cell had a unique magical key, and without knowing which spell Giovanni had used to create the bars, Zach could only hope to open them by exhaustion. On the bright side, he had the advantage of knowing backward magic, which meant he only had to go through one chapter of the book instead of the whole volume (and considering it weighted enough to provide a good dumbbell for the Black Canary, he was rather thankful).

He read the text, pouring his magic into his words. He wanted to rush it, but he had to be patient for it to work. He tried not to think about the time. He had asked Wonder Woman for a few hours. It had to be enough. 

Eventually, the magic bars fizzled out.

Tim opened his eyes.

“Tim,” Zach breathed, “Get up, we need to— _urk_!“ 

Tim burst out of his cell like he had been waiting to pounce all along, pushing his hand on Zach’s neck and slamming the magician to the ground. The boys arm then morphed into a canon and – Tim's arm didn't do that. Tim was human.

“Wait, _Blue Beetle_?” Zach asked, confused.

'Tim' blinked. He released his grip slightly.

“Zach? Like, _Zach_ Zach?” 

“It’s him,” the two boys turned to another cell, where Blue Devil had groggily awoken. “Look at his arm. The lasso would break Giovanni’s mind control.”

This time, Jaime released Zach completely, and offered him an arm to stand up.

“What are you doing here, Zach?” he asked, equally as confused.

Zach gave him a look.

“What am _I_ , Zachary Zatara, doing in _Shadowcrest_ , the Zatara family mansion?” He reformulated.

“He has a fair point,” someone yawned, stretching in their cell. It was a young woman, with black hair, pale skin, and a black mask over her face. Eve Eden, aka Nightshade.

Actually looking around, a lot of the nearby cells were filled with magical heroes. Blue Devil, Nightshade, Detective Chimp, Ragman, Blue Beetle, and…

“Eddie?”

Red Devil raised a hand tiredly, “’Sup.” 

What the fuck.

“I’m really sorry for attacking you, Zach,” Jaime apologized sheepishly, “It’s just that, every time we meet you outside Young Justice, you usually attack us first. My scarab now has this ingrained need to murder you whenever we’re in the same room. He never shuts up about ways to kill you.”

He couldn’t remember attacking Jaime. It had to have happened under Giovanni’s influence. Zach looked at the lasso warily. He really didn’t want those memories back, and the golden artefact seemed to adapt to whatever truth the holder wanted revealed, thank god.

“Reassuring,” Zach muttered, “has any of you seen Tim here? Or, another Blue Beetle?”

“No, but Traci and Lori are here,” Eddie replied, pointing at the end of the dungeon, where the two girls were stuck to the wall.

Zach let out a breath he had been holding for weeks. They weren’t hurt. Their restraints were different, more powerful, but they were okay.

Tim.

“Wayne,” he told his earpiece, “Tim isn’t here. Giovanni doesn’t have him.”

“Hey about that ‘another Blue Beetle’ thing…” Jaime started, narrowing his eyes at Zach suspiciously.

“I’d rather not say anything until we’ve negotiated me full immunity regarding identity theft,” the magician hurriedly shot down.

“Wait, is that _Bruce_ Wayne you’re talking to in your earpiece?” Eddie asked.

Zach grimaced, bracing himself for a traitor talk, “It’s complicated, but Bruce Wayne is _not_ responsible for what happened to the JSA.”

“Trust me, we _know_ ,” Blue Devil growled darkly, and to Zach’s surprise, “Wayne played a part, but it’s really all Giovanni and Luthor. They mind controlled the Justice League to do it for them.”

“Guessed as much,” Zach muttered. He'd figured out right before Tim had gotten taken away. Though he wasn't too sure how _they_ knew.

“It’s one of the reasons we didn’t tell them,” Jaime said somberly, “it’s going to destroy them to find out they were the ones to kill their friends.”

“It wasn’t them,” Eve reminded Jaime, “they weren’t in control.”

“We should let Wonder Woman decide how much we should tell the others,” Zach suggested.

“Wait, she _remembers_?” Blue Devil asked, horrified.

“I made her,” the magician admitted guiltily gesturing to the lasso, “I needed to. She’s distracting Giovanni as we speak. Wayne, Luthor and Giovanni are working together, do you think Luthor might be the one keeping Tim?”

“ _Worth a shot_ ,” Wayne agreed, “ _I’ll head to LexCorp. See what I can dig up_.”

“Everything is so messed up,” Eve groaned, “the Stranger could have at least warned us it was going to be like this.”

Zach froze.

“The Stranger,” he repeated, “as in the _Phantom_ Stranger?” Eddie nodded, and Zach could feel the pieces sliding together in his mind, “you guys are Shadowpact.”

The prisoner heroes looked at each other, all trying to delegate the speech to someone else. It was such a strange team, so seemingly casual and drama-free, that Zach had a hard time associating them with Shadowpact. Yet there was only one team that was traditionally supported by the Phantom Stranger, eternal passive entity.

Finally, Jaime surrendered from the childishness.

“Guilty as charged,” the beetle admitted with a half assed smile, “Surprise…?”

“I don’t understand,” Zach stammered, “I thought Shadowpact _died_ four years ago. Trying to save the Enchantress.”

“The previous iteration did,” Nightshade told him, “C’mon Zachary, I’m sure Zatana told you all about us. Shadowpact died many times.”

“No,” he replied, “I mean, yeah, I guess I know who you are – I’ve heard of Shadowpact’s accomplishments, their habit of reforming, and their… curse. But, Zat never told me it had reformed _again_. Why didn’t she tell me?”

It had come out angry, but damn if Zachary wasn’t. He’d been so desperate in his war against his father, and there had been a whole team dedicated to fighting magical threats right under his nose the whole time.

“Why didn’t either of _you_ tell me?” He asked Blue Beetle and Red Devil accusingly. Jaime looked away guiltily, but Eddie didn’t take kindly to his tone. He jabbed a finger in Zach’s chest, through the bars of his cell.

“Well, _first of all_ , we couldn’t be sure you weren’t still under your father’s influence,” he told him dryly, clearly not stepping back from the fight, “we’ve kept Shadowpact’s resurgence on the down low _especially_ so he wouldn’t notice us fighting him -- which obviously didn't work, but still -- and you’re just about the _one_ person he puts all his energy into surveying.”

“I’m –“ Zach grit his teeth to prevent himself from blowing up. No one hated Giovanni more than him, and by god was the implication of him being Giovanni’s _tool_ just about the biggest insult he had ever received. Yet he was deeply aware that his steam of anger commanding his mind was only rising from the boiling pot of shame in his stomach.

It was true.

“ _Second_ ,” Eddie interrupted, still angry, “the main reason Shadowpact even reformed was because _you_ asked Young Justice for help two years ago, and that while your closest friends _forgot_ , the newbie Jaime wasn’t susceptible to mindwipe, thanks to his scarab. He _remembered_. The Stranger led him to Oblivion. Danny rallied forces upon hearing his plea.” Eddie gave him back space to breathe, “We’re doing this for _you_ , Zach, so be careful who you point fingers at.”

Two years ago. That was when Eddie had joined Young Justice, shortly after he’d admitted everything to his friends and they’d dismissed it. It all _fit_. It all… Everything was making sense.

“But—“

“And lastly, if you want to blame anyone for us keeping our distance with you, blame your cousin, your dear departed Zatanna.”

Zach frowned, confused.

“She kinda forbade us from telling you Shadowpact was back,” Jaime revealed sheepishly.

That, couldn’t be true. Zatanna wouldn’t have – She _couldn’t_ have – She knew they were hoping for allies, for _help_. She knew they were feeling lost and isolated.

But Jaime had a comforting hand on his arm, right over the lasso, his fingers intertwined under the golden prefect. Zach suspected he knew exactly what he was doing.

Zatanna had _betrayed_ him.

“Why would she do that? Lori, Traci, and I thought we were _alone_!” He spat.

Blue Devil sighed, “Look kid, she was just trying to _protect_ you –“

“It’s Giovanni I need protection from, not _friends_!”

“Woah,” Jaime blinked, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word.”

Zach glared at him.

“You’ve heard of our curse,” Blue Devil resumed diplomatically, “she was against the very idea of us forming again, especially with two kids amongst us. She was downright _livid_ when we suggested bringing the Coven in. I’m pretty sure she got permanently kicked out of Oblivion by the Stranger for smashing me through the wall that day.” The man winced, “My ribs still ache from then.”

“What, just because of all this nonsense about how Shadowpact is doomed to get decimated at every iteration?” Zach scoffed, “Magic is all about breaking laws of physics, breaking the natural flow of things! I don’t believe destiny is immutable!”

Nightshade smiled, “You’d fit right in.”

“We don’t have time for chit chat,” Detective Chimp suddenly cut in, making it known he was awake, and probably might have been for a while, “It took you too long to get Jaime out. You won’t be able to free us all before Giovanni comes back. Can you get Traci 13 and Black Alice?”

Zach went and studied his sisters’ restraints more carefully. He returned a few minutes later. “Not a chance. The restraints are stuck to their bodies.”

“ _I_ might be able to,” Eve suggested, “the restraints themselves are tough, but I could maybe swap their bodies for others through the Shadow Realm. I don’t think Giovanni’s magic is powerful enough for the restraint to recognise who they are stuck to.”

“Inter-dimensional magic. That could work,” Zach nodded, “I’ll get you out. You put me and Jaime in their place, and you teleport yourselves out.”

“Works for me,” Jaime sighed.

“No,” the Chimpanzee shot down, “Putting you in beats the purpose, Zachary. You three are too important. Someone else needs to swap.”

“I’ll do it,” Eddie volunteered himself, “we started this whole team to save him from Giovanni’s grasp anyway.”

“You sure?” Zach asked, already flipping the pages of the book back to the correct chapter.

Eddie met Zach’s eyes, “I know you must think that us being teammates was a fraud now,” he told him with patience, “but it wasn’t for me. So are you going to continue stalling or can we move on and take this bastard down?”

“At this rate we might as well rename this team Young Justice 2.0,” Eve sighed.

“No need,” Blue Devil shook his head, “Zatanna may be dead but we gave her our _word_ ,” he explained, as Zach sat himself down, “and if there’s one thing Ed and I learnt through our dealings with Neron, it’s that promises are not negligible. Zach will not be part of Shadowpact. Plus, if we _are_ doomed to fail, then we’ll need someone to pick up our slack.”

Eve shrugged, then she turned back to Zach conversationally “How did you even get in the mansion, Zatara Jr.? There were magic detectors all over the place.”

Zach had started reciting the pages and couldn’t answer. He didn’t need though, as Detective Chimp picked the slack for him.

“He picked the lock like I did,” Detective Chimp cut in, “the Zataras are honest performers for the most part. They perform magic _tricks_ , and there’s nothing tricky about it if it’s real. Anything he can do in his shows, he can do without magic.”

“Sleight of hand, huh?” Jaime asked, “Is that how you got Wonder Woman’s lasso?”

Zach smirked for an answer.

Eddie sighed, but even he couldn’t hide a small grin. There was something exciting in all the plotting and escaping. Screw Giovanni.

* * *

The motorcycle came to a stop in the middle of the road. There was no sign to indicate that this spot was special, but both men could have found it blinded and drunk to the point of liver failure.

“It’s weird that there’s no path,” Dick pointed out, “Are you sure…?”

Jason nodded, “I saw the plans Bruce was working on in the Hive. He designated the Batcave as a new hideout for the kids. Knowing him, his plans gave priority to security, which mean we’ll be able to do our detecting shtick in peace here, and the kids will probably help us.”

“How are we going to get in then?”

“Well, unlike you,” Jason smirked, “the kids happen to know _I_ pose no threat to them.”

Dick gave him a look. Unamused.

“Just stay behind me, Dickhead,” Jason reformulated.

They trekked through the vegetation. It was strange to see the forest so wild there. Even when Dick had first stepped in Bruce’s life, it had been somewhat tamed. In some way, that path, the cave, Bruce, they were all like parents to him. He knew them well, perfectly well, and he thought himself as one of those who knew them best, but truth is, he’d never seen how’d they’d started, at the very beginning. There was a whole era of their lives he wasn’t privy to.

Not for the first time, he wondered how it must have been at the start of it all, of the whole Batman myth. Back when Bruce wasn’t that good. Back when he was almost Dick’s age, and returning from his trip.

Twenty-seven. Dick was approaching that age fast.

Was he… better than Bruce had been after his world tour? He’d been immersed in the vigilante life for so long, he had more hand on experience than twenty-seven year old Bruce would have had.

No. He couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t imagine Bruce having as many doubts as Dick had now, as many uncertainties. Bruce at twenty-seven must have already been Batman, in mind if not officially. He couldn’t imagine Bruce struggling with his next step, he couldn't imagine the path covered in vegetation, or the cave bare of anything. He had to see it to believe it, and for two of these things, it was unlikely to ever happen.

At twenty-seven, Bruce had come home, with a vision. A year later he’d already built a myth. Two years later he was a legend. Now he had an empire.

Dick was twenty-five, soon to be twenty-six.

He didn’t know where he wanted his life to go. What he wanted to build.

He couldn’t see past today.

Sometimes he was Batman. Sometimes he was Nightwing. Sometimes he was the Titans’ leader. The Outsiders’ leader. An outlaw vigilante. A policeman. A gym teacher. A museum curator. Damian’s guardian. Bruce’s heir. Tim’s brother. Barbara’s… who knows what.

He could see why Jason and Bruce would think he had an identity crisis. But he wasn’t too sure if it was about who he was, or who he wanted to be. Because he knew he was Dick Grayson and he knew he didn’t want to be Batman. But becoming Nightwing again felt like a step backwards. And Dick? He didn’t do backwards. He moved on.

Problem was, the cowl didn’t let go easy. Damian was his responsibility. Bruce had given him Gotham. He couldn’t up and leave. Not anymore.

Bruce had built everything he carried, but everything Dick carried just got shoved his way.

No wonder he always wanted to start anew. To find out who he was away from everything that tied him down.

There was a small camera in the leaves next to the cave’s entrance. Jason squatted so his face was smack in the middle of its sight.

“It’s me, don’t shoot,” he said. Then, without waiting for any sign that anyone had heard his message, he stood up and motioned for Dick to follow him, “C’mon.”

“Are you sure that’s going to work?”

“Trust me.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t.”

Their feet echoed as they walked into the cave’s mouth. The cave didn’t do that back home, but Dick had never noticed it was something Bruce had modified. 

They walked in silence through the tunnel, until they could see the entrance to the Hive.

“Whoa,” Dick couldn’t help but whistle as they exited the small underground vein and came out in a giant… well, Hive. The name was accurate. There were kids everywhere, working, bustling like bees, laughing. It was bright, colorful, and yes, so was the Batcave sometimes, but never this lively. There were wires and gadgets spread throughout, but still this cave resembled an arts and craft hangout more than a military base.

They had just stepped onto the platform that, back home, held reserve Batmobiles, when someone called out to them.

“Jason!”

A young woman ran towards them. Her hair was blue, and she had a few piercings on her face. She greeted Jason with a hug.

“Harper!” Jason smiled back, returning the hug, “or should I say Black Mask?”

“Call me whatever you want.”

“Harper, Nightwing. Nightwing, Harper,” he quickly presented, “Hope you guys behaved in my absence?”

“Of course.”

“She says that but she just escaped from jail,” a thirteen year old who was passing by whispered conspiratorially.

Harper hit the back of his head, “I wasn’t in jail, you dolt, I was in the care of social services.”

“Same thing in this godforsaken city.”

“What?” Jason asked, suddenly concerned, “ _Why_?" 

“It was Wayne’s plan,” she explained patiently, “we were having trouble with resources so we decided to get the Policemen’s children back home. Except we couldn’t just return them as is, because there are crooked cops that would just return them to the Underground. Hence Wayne figured if they were under the watch of big names, like the Soldier and Wonder Woman, the media’s attention would be focused on them, and the Underground couldn’t kidnap them again and hope to keep it quiet. Ergo, no blackmailing the cops without everyone knowing about it. I volunteered to lead the Soldier to a temporary hideout where we’d stashed the children, but then he ditched me at social services, and I had to break out. Finito.”

“That sounds needlessly complicated,” Dick pointed out.

“She forgot the part where Wayne threw her off a plane in the air,” the thirteen year old added. Harper glared at him and he ran away, snickering.

“He did _what_?” Jason and Dick cried in unison. 

“Do you people never watch the news?” Harper asked, “anywho, you guys need something?” 

Jason nodded, “We’d like to stay here for a while, do you mind?”

Harper grimaced, and that did not bode well. “I personally don’t mind, buuuuuut…”

“Hey, Harper! I have a great idea for the fridge. It’s like a fridge assistant. Think R2D2 but stuck to our fridge. Like, it can do all the boring nutritional information stuff, but it also has a lighter and can make jokes and I’m thinking play doh–“

Harper face-palmed as Jason and Dick gaped at the man who’d intruded upon their conversation.

“Oh. Busy?” Ted Kord asked, looking at the newcomers sheepishly. He was carrying some kind of dismembered trash can. It had googly eyes stuck to it.

“Okay, well, secret’s out,” Harper sighed, her voice monotonic, “guess you’re free to stay. Yipee.”

“Good seeing you again Nightwing, Jason Todd,” Ted awkwardly smiled.

“You were a corpse the last time I saw you,” Jason pointed out, “what the fuck.”

Dick could do nothing but stare. And stare some more.

“Yeah, okay, I’m just gonna go back to… fridges,” Ted decided, before squirrelling away.

He’d seen Ted take a bullet to the head. He’d seen the blood pool on the floor. Dark, but still red. Still warm.

“It was Bruce, wasn’t it?” Jason asked Harper, “the fucker faked Kord’s death.”

Harper winced, “Yeah. Not sure about the specifics, but Flamebird just brought him here two weeks after we’d moved in. He’s been very helpf—“

“Flamebird,” Jason repeated, tense, angrier, “Flamebird as in Plebe. Who you called Flamebird. Because that’s how Bruce calls her. Because he knows her. And he didn’t tell us she was here. Because he’s an absolute ass.”

“Yeah…? She’s the one who led us here in the first place…? Wayne gave me her number when he got shot, just before I left to get you…? Hey Nightwing, what’s the right answer so he doesn’t blow up? ... Nightwing?”

He’d seen Barbara’s frozen face as she’d watch him crumple to the floor. He’d never seen her that horrified. He knew Ted meant something to her. She had loved him. Maybe romantically, maybe not, he hoped it wasn’t romantic, but it was there.

“Nightwing?”

“Dickhead?”

Someone was snapping fingers in front of his face. It was Jason. He looked peeved.

“Harper!” Someone was yelling from the other side of the cave. It was a panicked yell. Not terrified. Not dying. Not in pain. Just serious and urgent.

There was a commotion. A gunshot. And a lot of shuffling. Kids were running around a lot. Jason and Harper were giving out orders. And then they came in, a platform above Dick, Jason, and Harper.

All dressed in black. Military gear. Two of them standing, guns pointed at Jason and Dick. One tied up, with an orange armband, at their feet, struggling. Plebe. No. Flamebird. Bette Kane. A Titan. A Bat. One of them. Tied. Caught.

By the Soldier.

“We’re putting an end to this,” the man declared.

But all Dick could think about was that he’d watched Ted die, and that he’d been so sure it was his fault. That he’d been reckless. That he’d been incompetent. That Ted had tried to warn him and that all Dick had done was get him killed.

But of course Ted Kord wasn’t actually stupid. Of course he wouldn’t light a fire and set the alarms off by accident _in his own apartment_. And of course Bruce was behind this. Vicki had said Dick was supposed to follow the trail, eventually.

“Both of you stand down,” his sidekick, Cadet, declared, “Kneel. Surrender.”

“No,” Dick refused, growling, ignoring Jason’s panicked look, “I’m not surrendering to _anyone_ until I _kill_ Bruce with my own two hands and piss on his dead body.”

“ _Jesus_ , Dick,” Jason gasped, “there are _children_ here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Damian is a junkie, and it really isn't as fun as it sounds. Don't do drugs, kids. Steph actually... has a plan?? What? But with the Soldier and Cadet continuing their crusade against Bruce Wayne and his associates, all her efforts may prove futile. Because it might be true that Barbara wasn't expecting to be facing against Steph, but Steph is grossly misunderstanding her opponent's intentions at the moment.
> 
> Two massive gatherings happen at the same time: while some converge at LexCorp searching for Tim, others head to the Watchtower hoping to get answers from Selina.


	29. Trust Is Risking Getting Stabbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's out to kill Bruce, and it's not Luthor, or the Justice League.  
> No, it's Selina. Because Bruce is an asshole.  
> Oliver Queen is not an asshole, but Connor and Diana sure feel like one with all their secrets.  
> Babs's assholeness is debatable, since she doesn't want to be one, but Luthor's an asshole, and his assholeness is forcing her to be an asshole, so.

_ WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE: _

_\- Young Justice got information from Talia Al Ghul that Tim is being held in LexCorp Tower._  
\- YJ is under the impression that Tim and Zach are probs being held prisoner together. They don't know about Giovanni. However they know all about the Bats.  
_\- Wonder Woman found out that the JSA massacre was really the Justice League, her included, being mind-controlled into killing their friends by Giovanni._  
_\- Oliver Queen and Diana Prince are married_  
_\- Bruce and Diana had an ongoing duel between them, which was reflected in two Greek fire torches. The loser’s torch would go out when the duel finished. Diana has since surrendered and believes that Bruce is not evil. She knows Zach and Bruce are working together. She doesn't know about the Bats._  
_\- Oliver Queen is a tired man who knows nothing and deserves so much more._  
  
_\- Helena was tasked by Talia to kill Babs. Helena, Azrael, and Man-Bat are working for the LoA because Bruce is pretending to LoA from another universe and it’s the only way for Talia to believe them._  
_\- Helena’s alter ego, Nemesis, is clinically insane._  
_\- Damian is under an illusion spell to look like Impulse II_  
_\- Babs is pregnant. Vicki revealed that Babs was being threatened with her father’s life, but also alluded that there was something else keeping her working for Luthor._

  
_\- Steph is giving orders while Bruce is on a journey to self discovery. She has asked Selina to pretend to be possessed by Zatanna’s ghost, and claim that Zatanna wants to reveal the truth about the JSA massacre to everyone in a huge superhero gathering at the Watchtower._  
_\- Misfit is the messenger for everything._  
_\- Selina has bad reactions to Giovanni. She knows a LoA method against mind invasions. (that’s actually comic book canon but I felt like putting in there)_  
_\- Cass is currently protecting Selina._  
_\- At the very beginning, Bruce had received a message from Lex Luthor pertaining to the JSA massacre plan being in motion._

 

 

…

..

.

 

 

 

He had ten minutes. Ten minutes of peace, or ten minutes of preparation. In all fairness, he shouldn’t have had any time at all, not with Tim and Zach’s lives on the line, but Connor wasn’t like Cassie or Bart or Kon. Ten minutes to choose and gather his weapons made all the difference, and he needed to be at the top of his game if they were to infiltrate LexCorp Tower of all places. He usually wasn’t that big on trick arrows, but this time had to be an exception. 

The blond went through his father’s stash of arrow heads, purposely pretending not to see the more… extravagant ones. Explosives were good, gas arrows, yes, electric, why not, but he drew a line at the smelly tofu arrow.

He wished he had the time or the energy to make fun of it.

When was the last time anyone had made fun of Ollie? The Arrow household was not the most rambunctious, but that was in comparison to the Flashes. It was a warm household, a loving, familial environment. Yes they teased each other non-stop, but they _talked_ to each other. Or at least they used to. It was difficult to remember that these days.

“Give me ten minutes,” Diana was saying as she walked down the stairs and into the basement, where Connor was stashing his findings in a bag, “then you can teleport me to the Watchtower. Oh, hello Connor.”

The Amazon princess clicked on her earpiece to end her previous conversation. There was something odd about her way of speech. It was… lacking.

“Hey Di,” Connor reciprocated. He hadn’t planned on getting caught, but it wasn’t like it was a rare occurrence for him to prepare for battle. That was the life of a superhero. Besides, he thought as he watched her head straight for her swords, dressed in her work clothes, she wasn’t one to talk. “I thought the meeting at the Watchtower was only in three hours?”

“It is,” she confirmed, “but I wanted to get there early. There is something I want to confirm first, and something else I fear may happen.”

There was a small silence as Diana turned her attention to weighing her swords. And there it was. What was missing.

Okay, so Connor was a grown man, and he didn’t really need to have a helicopter parent around. But it was different with Diana. She respected people’s boundaries, and knew not to prod when it wasn’t her business, but she cared enough to ask. Out of politeness, or more certainly genuine concern, she’d at least give Connor the option to open up. Yet there was no ‘who are you expecting to fight?’ or ‘Do you need help with anything?’ or even ‘How have you been these past few days?’ in sight.

And that, that was worrisome.

So Connor took the first step, because he owed it to her twenty times over, and more urgently, because he cared. “Are you alright?” He asked.

Diana seemed a bit surprised at the question, but gave him a soft, apologetic smile.

“No,” she admitted, “I don’t believe I am. But my people have always taught me to keep my grievances for after the fight, and that is what I will do. Thank you for asking, and I will be grateful if you would do so again in a few days, Connor.”

Connor nodded, “Of course, Di. I think I can understand,” he sighed, “there’s no time for moping these days.”

She glanced at him.

“I take it you are not attending the meeting,” she observed.

He could have lied to her, or better yet, dodged the question. They couldn’t afford to let everyone know what they were doing. Not while the enemy still had Tim and Zach. Not while they didn’t even know who the enemy was.

But this was Diana, and she always understood.

“Young Justice won’t be there either,” he confessed.

“I see.”

They continued their business in silence, but comfortably. Sometimes it was enough just to have someone at your back.

Connor hauled the bag he’d just filled over his shoulder, just as Diana retrieved her god-slaying sword from her racks. They both moved to leave, but were stopped by an arrow, pointed towards them, blocking the stairs. It wasn't a very effective weapon against Diana, but its owner was enough to hold her back.

“The Watchtower meeting is in three hours,” Ollie pointed out coldly, “where are you going?”

He was rarely this intense. Never against his own. That alone alarmed Connor.

“Er, I’m meeting up with Young Justice beforehand,” Connor replied, confused, and quite frightened. It was never good when his father was angry. Grumpy was the norm, angry meant someone was getting new holes in them.

Did he know they were hiding Superman, Damian Al Ghul, and Stephanie Brown?

“And you need half of my arsenal to do that?”

“I thought we’d agreed to give Young Justice a bit more leeway, my dear,” Diana reminded him, “they’ve been working as hard as any of us these past months.”

It was always nice when Wonder Woman had your back. She was the voice of reason, everyone knew that. And while Connor himself was quite well respected in that aspect, Diana was on a whole other level.

However, this time, just this time, it seemed to backfire.

“Diana, my love, look into my eyes and answer me,” Oliver demanded. His breath was trembling and his face was red with anger or sorrow -- Connor couldn’t even begin to guess -- but despite it all, his arms and eyes were steady. “Are you working with Bruce Wayne? “

Diana looked taken aback, almost afraid, which was a novelty. She clearly didn’t want to have that conversation.

“You’ve been chasing him around under the pretense of your duel, but I _know_ it’s over,” he revealed, “One of the Greek fires died, even before you went to Gotham to get your plane back, and it’s not his. And I know Wayne can’t beat you in a fight. I know you wouldn’t be forced to surrender. You _let_ him win. You _let_ him get away. And you hid that from me, from _everyone_.”

Connor’s mind was reeling. Was that… true? Did Diana also _know_?

Wait. No. That wasn’t the most important. If she was working with Wayne, then she had seen him after he’d begun his search for Zach and Tim. She could know something about that.

“Things are not what they seem to be, my dearest Oliver,” she replied, softly, but clearly. She was not backing down, “There is a lot more to this horror than you think. I am not working with Bruce Wayne, love, but I have stopped working against him. There is much greater evil out there.”

“Much greater…?” Oliver scoffed, “$@#% that! He took Tim from us! _Tim_! He took our boy!”

“That’s not—“ Connor interrupted, without thinking. Perhaps that was a mistake, but it was hard to look at his father so close from breaking, at Diana so close to lying. “Wayne is not – He didn’t take Tim away from you, it’s not, that’s not what happened. It’s complicated but Diana is _right_ , Ollie, Wayne is not the bad guy --”

This time, it was Diana looking at him strangely, but it was greatly overshadowed by the look of pure loathing that had suddenly affixed itself to Connor.

“You too?” Oliver seethed, betrayed “You too, Connor? Of all people.”

The acid in his voice was more painful than any real acid could be.

Diana and Connor shared a look, and it was so obvious they knew more than Ollie, and so obvious neither of them could share their knowledge.

“You need to trust us, Oliver,” Diana pleaded, taking a step forward. His arrow was now touching her chest, and her hand gently stroking his cheek, “you used to trust us.”

“How can I trust _anyone_ anymore, Di?” he asked, earnestly hoping for an answer, “Tim, Roy and the Titans, Black Canary, $@#%-ing _Superman_ , and now you and Connor? How can – Why, why is everyone taking Wayne’s side? He killed, so many of us. He’s playing with your minds! He’s manipulating you! Can’t you see that? I don’t want to fight you, but I’ll be _damned_ if I let you go against everything you value!”

Oliver Queen wasn’t Diana Prince. He lied sometimes. He kept things bottled up, and he was nowhere as wise or as elegant in everything he did. But Connor had always thought that the reason they went so well together, was that there was something incredibly honest about Ollie too. He didn’t always speak his heart, but he never silenced his mind. He had opinions, and everyone heard them. He shouted them on every rooftop, and god did he fight for them.

Even now. He wasn’t hiding how much agony it was to point his arrows at them. But he believed in their hearts, he sincerely believed Diana and Connor would not be able to live with themselves if they sided with a mass murderer. He believed they were above such corruption, that they were too good for this. He wouldn’t let them fall. Not even if it was their wish to.

And he’d stand by that belief even if it meant tearing himself from everything he loved.

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Diana told him, “I am so sorry. I wish I had an answer for you, but trust was never a matter of proof. I –“

Light surrounded Diana, and Connor suddenly remembered she had asked the Watchtower to teleport her after ten minutes. His time was up as well, then. He had to remember to talk to Diana when they had a moment of peace though. He had a feeling they had knowledge that would be beneficial to each other. 

The arrow immediately turned towards him. 

“Ollie – _Dad_. We’re not betraying anyone,” Connor assured his father, one hand up like he was trying to reason with a mad beast, “I promise you. But you really, _really_ need to let me go now.”

“I don’t believe you,” was the gruff reply.

He didn’t have the time for this.

“Then… Then you’re going to have to shoot me,” Connor told him blankly, out of options, and as soon as it was out, he wanted to swallow it back. Those word weren’t just hurtful; they were just about the most cruel of words Connor could have ever conceived in his mind.

Ollie pulled the string of his bow, taking in a bull’s breath, eyes full of an endless pit of Queen stubbornness – and for just a second, Connor thought he’d do it. Because his father was not uncompromising. He had never been. He thought killing could be necessary. He thought lying was sometimes the best. He let his emotions get the better of him.

But slowly the older archer retracted the string of his bow. The raw desperation on his face settled in cold anger. And while his eyes never left Connor’s, they seemed to shut him out, little by little.

Crack!

Oliver shattered his own bow on his knee, throwing the last pieces to the side in bitter resignation. “Do what you want,” he spat, “I don’t care anymore. I’m done with this.”

And he walked away, leaving Connor to stare at the splintered wood on the floor.

A passionate ‘$@#%’ would have softened the blow, but as it was, Connor would have preferred the arrow to his heart.

* * *

Helena parked her car in an alleyway, not far from the Tower. She was starting to feel like she was spending her life breaking into LexCorp facilities. It hadn’t been that much of a problem before – what kind of vigilante  _didn’t_ want to annoy the hell out of Lex Luthor? – but this time, her task was more than a little daunting.

Kill Barbara Gordon-Kord.

It hadn’t been unexpected. Working for the League of Assassins had always made that risk very real, and Helena was not above killing anyways, though she now refrained from doing so.

But the thought of raising her fists against Barbara of all people… She owed the woman so much. Babs had given her a chance when all the other Bats had written her off as a violent, blood thirsty maniac. She had given her a second shot at being a teacher, after Helena had managed to ruin all her professional prospects. She had defended her honor in front of the goddamn Batman, at the risk of her own.

Most importantly, she was her friend, and that meant everything.

Still, if Talia Al Ghul noticed the slightest bit of disobedience, she’d kill Helena, Man-Bat, and Azrael. Offering their services was already an extended lifeline that Wayne had somehow managed to make Talia swallow, and Helena would not jeopardize it. This was going to be an interesting morning.

“Ouch, that’s my foot!”

The exclamation caught Helena’s attention, mostly due to where it came from.

The Teen Titans – Young Justice, in this world – Young Justice was scrambling around a vent in an alley closer to LexCorp tower. She recognized that vent from the plans Talia had provided her, and knew that it led to the tower. However, it was perfectly secure, and the teens had no chance of getting inside that way undetected. Enemies of the enemies...

“Need a hand?” She asked.

The teenagers honest to God _blanched_ upon seeing her, and raised their fists in fighting stances. All except one.

“Huntress.”

Helena narrowed her eyes. Why was that midget talking to her like that?

“… Impulse?” She reciprocated.

The tiny hero took out a knife from her spandex suit and moved to stab Helena, but was fortunately caught by Wonder Girl.

“That’s Levi – er, Robin. Illusion spell,” she explained, obviously ignoring the brat gnawing at her hand, “Heard you were one of the Bats. Sorry about the reaction, it’s an ingrained reflex now.”

Helena tilted her head to concede the point. Her alter ego, Nemesis, was a mass murderer after all. Not to mention, she was dressed in League of Assassins standard garbs, which wasn't exactly a stellar character reference in either worlds.

“What are you kids doing here?”

“There is something we need to retrieve from LexCorp Tower,” Green Arrow the younger replied, “but Oracle seems to have blocked all the entrances Lev – _Robin_ knew of from your world.”

Helena pondered her next words. She wasn’t sure what stance she was suppose to take in relation to Young Justice. As a Bat, they were allies. But would there be any repercussions in helping them? Whatever they were up to, it was probably important. And there was no way Robin knew of an entrance Barbara didn’t know if.

“I can get you in,” she finally decided, “Talia Al Ghul showed me a way in. Oracle wouldn’t know about that one.”

“Just how many ways are there of breaking into one of the most secure towers in the world?” Kon asked.

“Trust me, kid, when you work with Oracle and the Batman, the one thing you learn is that nothing is impenetrable.”

“So what are _you_ doing here?” Wonder Girl asked conversationally.

“I was sent to kill Gorgon,” she admitted, “I need the League of Assassins to trust me."

“Woah, we can’t let you do that!” Bart exclaimed, “Wait—Gorgon is a bad guy. So maybe we should…?”

“She’s not actually going to kill Gorgon, you buffoon,” Damian growled, dusting himself. He was finally free from Wonder Girl’s grasp.

“Of course not,” the Huntress huffed, “she’s one of my best friends. I actually really need to talk to Batman about my next move, but I can’t get in touch with him.”

“Best friends?” Bart whispered to Kon, “but isn’t Nemesis insane?”

“I am _not_ insane!” Huntress groaned, “I can’t believe I have to defend my sanity so much in this world. Even Talia Al Ghul asked me about it. Talia. Al. Ghul.”

“Something doesn’t smell right,” Robin pondered, “Mother sent us here as well. I wouldn’t put it past her to use us as a distraction, perhaps to make your mission easier.”

It was true that tidbit of information was unsettling. Talia was a hard woman to read.

Wait, Robin was Talia Al Ghul’s _son_? Jesus. And Helena thought _she_ had the criminal background with her mafia family.

“We’ve already considered it,” Green Arrow reminded the brat, “we know there’s a big chance this is some kind of trap.”

“And you’re still going in?”

“We have good backup,” Kon assured her, with a glint his eyes. 

“Well, it’s your mission,” Helena shrugged, “Come on, we need to get to the other side of the Tower.”

There was some sort of mutual agreement not to ask specifics of what exactly the others’ aim was. Helena knew that the shady deals between Talia and Wayne were meant to be on a need to know basis only, and she could see why. That strategy was likely to cause controversy among their allies, and they really couldn’t afford in-fighting. Moreover, they couldn’t risk word of it spreading, lest anyone else found out that Wayne was trying to hoodwink Talia.

Likewise, Young Justice seemed to have its own fair share of secrets. And Helena wasn’t about to pry, out of courtesy, for as long as they didn’t pry in her business.

The plan Talia had mounted was perfect. They only had to knock out a few guards here and there, and hack through a few security measures. The later was done thanks to a USB master key that the League of Assassins had in spades, and everything felt almost too easy.

But Helena knew it wasn’t the case. It wasn’t that it was too easy, or that Lex Luthor was too dumb. The League of Assassins was just that good. It was exactly the same as when she had to follow one of Oracle or Batman’s plans. And if that was the case... She sure hoped Wayne knew what he was doing. The best of allies made the worst of enemies.

She parted ways with the kids as soon as they were deep enough inside, and followed the plan to the main computer lab, where Talia was sure Barbara would be. And of course Talia was right. Again.

“Babs!”

Barbara’s head swiveled as soon as Helena opened the door. She was alone in the wide space, surrounded by twenty odd screens, all displaying different information. It was quite a familiar sight. All that was missing was the clockshaped window, and the personal touches to her workspace.

She never thought she’d miss seeing those Nightwing and Batgirl dolls around.

“Helena? What are you…? How did you get in here?”

Helena paused. She had been warned, but seeing Barbara's stomach inflated like a balloon was still a shock.

“Later. I’m going to get you out of here, and then we’ll think of a way to fake your death.” 

“You have been spending _way_ too much time around Bats lately,” Barbara deadpanned, but she flinched backwards when Helena made a move to grab her, one hand behind her back, and the other under her knees. “Wait. You can’t – “

The red head looked at her screens, clearly hesitant.

“I _can’t_ leave LexCorp,” she told her friend.

Helena wanted to ask if her friend was crazy, but she knew too well how it felt like to be on the receiving end of that question. Instead, she reminded herself that this was Oracle she was talking to, and that Oracle had her reasons. She took a step back.

“He’s holding someone against you isn’t he?” Helena asked in disgust.

“It’s not that simple,” Barbara told her, “It’s not just one hostage.”

And Barbara’s hands crept on her belly, almost protectively.

Helena’s face drained. That monster wouldn’t – How could anyone – Had God forsaken this world?

“It’s some kind of poison,” Barbara explained, “it won’t do any permanent damage to me, but it will kill the baby if I don’t take the antidote regularly.”

“And Luthor is the only one with the antidote,” Helena bitterly finished.

Barbara’s silence was enough of an answer.

The red head allowed Helena to fume for a few moments, patiently waiting for her to calm down. Though as soon as Barbara spoke, it was evident she was also prepping herself for the coming conversation.

“Look, I know what you’re going to say,” Barbara sighed, “The child’s father is either dead or the man threatening its life,” Helena hadn’t even considered the possibility, but was now thoroughly grossed out, “its mother – my counterpart – is such a huge bitch she’s probably indifferent about it. No one is going to care for it, and no one is going to mourn it. It has no future. It hasn’t lived yet, it’s not really conscious of itself, so it’s not like it would lose anything either. It would only take nine months to replace it. And in the meantime, I’m helping a man who’s probably going to kill hundreds of other superheroes if left unchecked. I’m being selfish and reckless and –“

“Babs,” Helena interrupted her, “Remember who you’re talking to.”

If there was one Bird who would not question her choice, it was Helena. She wasn’t outright against abortions, but the concept certainly made her uneasy. And yes, most superheroes would be horrified at the idea of killing an unborn child – but a miscarriage and a massacre did not weight the same.

Despite her violent tendencies, Helena was a very pious woman, and killing an innocent soul was one of the worst crimes she could think of. So maybe it was not the smart choice. Maybe Barbara was risking a whole world for the sake of a child who wouldn’t even realize it was dying when it did. And maybe that child had no foreseeable happy future anyway, with the circumstances of its birth, but Helena was certainly not the one who was going to tell her off. She would have done the same.

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure anyone would blame Barbara for her choice. There was little debate when one was so close to her due date, and the Bats were way overprotective of life anyways. Perhaps the Computer genius was being too critical over her own emotions. Too self-conscious of the love she had developed for that child. Perhaps she felt guilty for indulging, because in their world, Barbara would never be able to have children.

Either way, she didn’t deserve being tortured like that. 

“I’ll never judge you for your old fashioned opinions again,” Barbara promised, with a small laugh, “I just – I don’t even know. I’ve been carrying this child for almost two months now. I’m not even sure who the father is. It’s technically not even mine. All I know is that I would do anything to protect it, Hel. _Anything_.”

Helena placed a hand on her friends shoulder, then dismissed the reassuring squeeze and went straight for the hug.

“In that case, so will I,” she promised. She felt Barbara reciprocating the embrace, bury her head in Helena's hair.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, and it hurt to feel how tense Barbara was being. She would get Luthor for this, Helena swore to herself. And to Hell with Batman and his rules – the man was going to get a bolt straight to his heart and people would remember why exactly they called her the Huntress.

They gently parted, Barbara making no attempt to hide how grateful she was for the gesture, and Helena went straight to work.

“Superboy,” she spoke, hoping the teen would hear her, “I don’t know if you’ve found what you were looking for, but there’s something else I need you to retrieve. Look for antidotes, medicine, anything of the kind that you can get your hands on. It won’t be commercial.”

“They’re not going to find it,” Barbara warned her, wiping a tear. Most people looked vulnerable when they cried, but Barbara always kept a focused gaze. She seemed more determined than sad when she cried and it was simply because she was always on the job. “Luthor’s not going to leave it laying around somewhere labelled ‘Antidote to the poison keeping Barbara Gordon-Kord hostage’. He’d have lead lined it and hidden under layers of concrete or something. Maybe stashed it in an alternate dimension.”

“But there’s no way you’re going to let me take you away until you have it.”

“None.”

Helena sighed, mentally rolling her sleeves for the herculean task ahead. 

“Then we search.”

“No, we don’t,” Barbara whispered.

Helena felt the prick of a tranquilizing dart on her arm, and then the cold flatness of the floor on her face.

* * *

Three hours. Selina was getting antsy.

Having been confined in a room on the Watchtower was grating enough for the cat burglar, but being left in the dark about all the machinations Bruce and Stephanie were hatching was probably the worst in the whole deal. She was tempted to rebel, to remind them that she was not a pawn to control, but she couldn’t risk it. Not in this alternate dimension when the Bats were her only hope of getting home.

Besides, she had been expecting Giovanni to come after her eventually, and there was no place safer than Cassandra Cain’s side.

The young woman was standing guard next to the room’s door, as she had been ever since Selina had awoken from her Zatara induced craze. Black Bat was someone Selina had trouble with. They were just, too different. Selina was someone who enjoyed a play on words, and someone who was all about breaking rules. Black Bat on the other hand, was perfectly fine following orders and she had no patience for social subtleties. At least with Nightwing or Red Robin there could be a little back and forth to keep the mood light. But Black Bat? Even Man-Bat had better conversational skills.

She felt like a prisoner, and she didn’t like it. 

What was Stephanie even expecting from her at the meeting? Surely she didn’t mean to actually say the truth about the JSA massacre, as Stephanie didn’t even know what that was. Was she supposed to improvise? Make up some ridiculous story that would pass anyway because they lived in a world of superheroes and everything was plausible?

Three hours to deadline, and Selina hadn’t heard a peep of Stephanie Brown or Bruce.

Finally, a small poof alerted her of Misfit’s presence.

“Heya!” She greeted, skipping to the chair Selina was sitting on, “here’s a comm. Piece. Steph needs to talk to you. I need to run though.”

Selina grabbed the piece of technology, noticing the YJ initials on it.

“If you’re just going to tell me to wait more,” she growled immediately, “I’m going rogue.”

In the background, Misfit forced some kind of secret handshake on Cassandra, and then puffed away again.

Stephanie sighed. “ _Alright, it was worth a try_ ,” she muttered, “ _sorry about that. Uhm, pull the evacuation alarm, then_.”

She sounded so tired and stressed, Selina reluctantly dug up a sliver of magnanimity from the bottom of her soul. It was clear the girl was being spread too thin. Well, her ire was just going to have to befall on Bruce, then, she supposed.

“Are you sure?” Selina asked, “That seals the Watchtower for twenty four hours. The meeting –“

“ _Should probably be avoided_ ,” Stephanie filled in, “ _I mean, gathering all the superheroes in one location is just begging for someone to wipe them all out in one go, no_?”

Oh, Selina was going to _murder_ the blonde. Cats and birds didn’t mix well after all.

“Well, yes,” Selina agreed, “but I didn’t think you had thought of that.”

“Same,” Cassandra seconded.

Stephanie scoffed, offended. “ _Seriously?_ Seriously? _You guys do realize that I did go through Robin 101 with Batman, right? I know I’m not Tim, but_ come on _! Have a little faith, girls.”_

“So what exactly was the point of all this charade?” Selina deflected, to hide that, yes, she really was surprised that Stephanie actually had a plan. The way Cassandra was looking away told her she wasn’t alone in that regard.

Don’t get her wrong. Selina didn’t think the young Batgirl was any less skilled than her peers. In fact, out of all the Gotham vigilantes, she was certain she was one of those who respected her the most. She could understand her fire and her drive, in a way that richboy Wayne would never be able to. But Stephanie Brown’s strength did not lie in her strategic mind or on her reliability. Stephanie had something that was solely hers, and her greatest weakness was in thinking it wasn’t enough.

“ _I was hoping that it would freak out whoever had killed the JSA_ ,” Stephanie explained, “ _and that they would try to get to you before you could say anything. That’s why I had Cass stay by your side. But I doubt anyone's gonna come so close to the meeting, so we can pull the plug on that._ ”

“You were using me as bait,” Selina deducted, “oh honey, you really should have told me beforehand.”

“ _Probably_ ,” Steph admitted, “ _but working as Bruce has me super paranoid. Like, I don’t know how he does it. I’m terrified that someone might be eavesdropping on our conversations somehow, all the time. And I’m like, fighting Oracle, right? Oracle. I keep having the feeling that she actually knows everything and is somehow ten steps ahead of me and that she’s just humoring me because she’s, like,_ the _Oracle, and I’m like, ugh,_ Steph.”

“Your disturbing lack of self-esteem aside,” Selina interrupted, making a mental note to talk to Bruce about praising his kids every once in a while, preferably before the premeditated homicide, “I did not mean it that way. You should have told me because then I’d have told you that this plan was wholly unnecessary. I know what happened to the JSA.”

“— _Is what you’re supposed to say. To bait the bad guy_.”

“It’s the truth, Stephanie,” Selina insisted, “I know what happened.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“ _Zatanna’s ghost…?_ ”

“No. That was entirely your construction.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Stephanie responded, blankly, “ _Okay, give me a sec to adjust. Phew. Okay. Here goes. You_ knew _who killed the JSA?_ The whole time? _!_ ”

“Ever since I arrived in this world, yes.”

“ _And you’re telling us_ now?”

Selina let out a big, long sigh. “Look, kid,” she explained, “I’m not like you guys – I’m not in the business of self-sacrifice and whatnot. I didn’t want to tell you, because if I did, and if it reached Bruce’s ears, then I knew we’d be focusing on helping out this world instead of focusing on a way home because you guys are all heart and no self-preservation. And honestly? I don’t see why we have to.”

“ _You_ _’re a horrible person_ ,” Stephanie deadpanned.

“Think what you want,” Selina replied coldly, “but I am not going against a Zatara if I can help it. You _know_ I have history with those mind-altering assholes.”

“ _Uhm, actually, I don’t really_ ,” Stephanie replied, uncomfortable, “ _did they… do something… weird?_ ”

Sweet kid, really. She had backtracked on her critical attitude immediately upon realizing that there was, actually, something pretty deep in Selina’s aversion of Zataras. A bit clumsy on the ‘talking to someone about a possibly sensitive subject’, but sweet nonetheless.

“Don’t worry about it if you weren’t told. Just know that I’m only helping you guys on the condition that we prioritize going home over all this drama.”

“ _Wait, are you saying that a Zatara is responsible for the JSA massacre?_ ” the blonde suddenly caught on, “ _Oh my God, is it that Zachary jerk?_ ”

“Giovanni,” Cassandra put together. No doubt remembering the warning Selina had given her.

“Yes.”

“ _But, I thought_ …” Stephanie pondered, “ _I thought B had gotten a message from_ Luthor _about the massacre. Are Luthor and Giovanni… working together? Not that I don’t expect a team-up, but that’s the weirdest team-up of supervillains. How would that – how would they even_ know _each other?_ ”

Selina wanted nothing to do with that investigation, but she couldn’t help but put the puzzle together. It was obvious to anyone who knew. “Bruce Wayne,” she answered reluctantly, “Bruce Wayne links them together. He’d know Luthor professionally, and even in our world, the Waynes and the Zataras have been friends for generations.”

“ _And then they double crossed him_ ,” Stephanie finished, “ _he put them in contact, and they used him as a scapegoat. Man it sucks to be a bad guy. But why would evil-B need to put Luthor and Giovanni in contact? What could they bring to each other? To Bruce?_ ”

“Giovanni is definitely the one behind the massacre,” Selina told her, “Luthor might have been the one erasing his traces, or something. And I suppose this world’s Bruce wanted to see superheroes die just as much as any other supervillain." 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Stephanie groaned, “ _sounds solid but at this point we’re just conjecturing things without basis. You know what? We’ll take this step by step. Untangle the knots one by one, and there won’t be a problem. Let’s just pull the evac for now and make sure the meeting does not happen. I can’t believe I wasted so much effort thinking up a plan_.”

Selina and Cassandra left the room, in search for the closest alarm. 

“In my opinion you bats overthink everything." 

“Agreed,” Cassandra smiled. It sincerely irked her out how alike Cassandra was to her adoptive father. The silence in their step was the same.

“ _Whose side are you on, Cass?_ ” 

The Watchtower was empty, for the most part. Give or take three Justice Leaguers roaming around doing whatever they did in their free time. Everyone had been asked not too show up early, so as to minimize the time they spend huddled together.

“You are not Batman,” Cassandra shrugged in reply, “you don’t need to be. Hard – No. Complicated plans are not you.” 

So maybe there was a common ground between the Cat and the Black Bat. The less Stephanie was like Bruce, the better.

“Found an alarm,” Selina reported, immediately grabbing the handle. She pulled it down in one decisive motion.

And nothing happened.

She tried again.

“It’s not working,” the cat burglar frowned. She opened the grid behind the alarm. If anyone knew their ways around alarms, it was her.

The system was brilliant, and neat. There were no dangling heap of wires – but the amount of computing chips behind it was astronomical. There was also a hint of alien tech, which Selina wasn’t too sure about.

Oh well, at worst, this was nothing but a challenge for her skills.

“ _That’s not possible_ ,” Stephanie replied, “ _B told me that the alarm backups have backups which have backups. They don’t just, not work_.”

“We can look for others,” Cass suggested.

Selina's heart sank.

“It won’t work,” she informed them darkly, “someone disarmed the whole alarm system.”

What were the chances of the alarms being disarmed just before the meeting? And if Stephanie hadn't done this, then it was probably someone with more sinister intentions.

“ _Yeah okay, that’s a problem_.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how common knowledge it is, but just to clarify, the reason why Selina went from being a villain to more or less a hero in the comics is because Zatanna (who at the time wanted to atone for wiping Bruce's memory) kinda mind manipulated her into it. As it turns out she just pushed along Selina's naturally good side, but still Selina really didn't take it well when she found out and had a massive identity crisis. She went rogue again for a while and all that. Can't remember how B (who could obv sympathise with being mind fucked by Zat) convinced her to stop, but that's the gist of it. Also, later, Talia manipulated Zatanna into erasing all memories Selina had of Bruce and Batman. Zatanna didn't do it in the end (though she came reeeeally close) but it remains a point of friction between the two. Finally, though that was her own wish, she did almost get Zatanna to erase her memories of her own daughter. Zatanna convinced her not to, and they vaguely reconciliated, but basically that's what she thinks her powers are good for. So yeah, Selina has a bad History with Zataras and mind control.
> 
> Next up: YJ's trip to LexCorp isn't a complete waste of time (yay), The Soldier and Co invade the Watchtower (less yay), and Luthor fucks up big time but unfortunately that does not benefit any of our heroes, because they're too busy being fucked over by that mistake as well (er, not yay... like, at all)


	30. Operations Underway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For one of the most secure places in the world, there are a lot of people sneaking into Lexcorp Tower and looking to steal Luthor's stuff.  
> Selina gets a taste of the other side of life, where people like their security alarms functional (what a concept!).  
> Steph tries to cheer Supes up but of course it ends up going the other way, because Superman.  
> Bruce casually takes control of other people's armies to use as his personal lock-pick.

_ Recap: _

_- Talia told YJ that Luthor had Tim, so they're at Lexcorp looking for their friend. They believe Zach is with Tim._   
_\- Helena asked them to look for anything that looks like a cure, after finding out Babs was poisoned and that the antidote was used to blackmail her._   
_\- In this world, Damian is the son of Talia and Bane._   
_\- Damian and Steph had a fight which ended with Damian going against her orders and following YJ._

_\- Steph and Supes are currently hiding at the YJ Manor._   
_\- Steph is currently the Bat boss and it's stressing her out._   
_\- Superboy wanted to have a word with Supes and it's stressing him out._

_\- Azrael and Man-Bat are currently working as League of Assassin minions in an attempt to fool Talia into believing that Bruce is also LoA (it's not working she knows everything)_   
_\- The League keeps attacking Luthor for no reason (well, obv, there is one, but we don't know it yet ;) )_   
_\- Bruce is also looking for Tim, and currently exploring the possibility of him being held by Lex._

_\- Steph had this whole plan to bait the JSA killer by spreading word of a meeting where Selina pretended to be possessed by Zatanna and would reveal the whole truth. It didn't work, so now they're aborting the meeting to avoid a high concentration of heroes in one place and another massacre. That didn't work either, as the alarm system was blocked. Seriously, who allowed her to make plans._   
_\- Cass is also at the Watchtower, bodyguarding Selina._   
_\- The Soldier and his sidekick Cadet have been hunting down bats._

 

 

...

..

.

 

 

 

Conner was worried about the kid. There were a gazillion things he was supposed to be worried about – Zach, Tim, Lexcorp security, that talk Superman promised him that he was going to have to go through with now and gosh why did he have to open his big mouth when he could have just hightailed it and – ahem. Problems weren’t lacking in Conner’s life, and many of them were much more dire than a sullen murder child. Still, Conner was worried.

It was rather unlike the small boy to be so subdued.

Yes, he was a ninja. And yes, he could move about so silently that even Conner couldn’t hear him – but he was also an arrogant, cynical brat who wasn’t shy about letting everyone know just how incompetent they were. Yet he hadn’t uttered an unprompted word after his fight with Stephanie, save for their small encounter with Nemesis.

Bart had tripped on flat ground earlier and Damian hadn’t even clicked his tongue in disgust. A simple condescending sneer would have been something. Heck, Conner would have paid for just a grimace.

They were rummaging through office thirteen hundred and forty-five of Lexcorp Tower now, looking for anything that could help Nemesis, or, alternatively, Zach and Tim. They looked greatly out of place among the immaculate white floors and glass furniture in their colourful getups. Unfortunately, Conner couldn’t exactly X-ray anything, as Luthor had covered his towed in lead like it was wall paint (paranoid much?). So there he was, opening and closing cupboards the traditional way and even using super-speed the task was rather tedious. It left time to think though, and the repetitive nature of the chore had a meditative edge to it.

Well, not for everybody.

Damian was shutting the drawers of a desk a tad too violently for his comfort.

Conner opened his mouth, but he caught Connor shaking his head slowly. He had been throwing the kid just as many concerned glances as he had, so he elected to trust their wise archer.

**Pop!**

The Superman clone was glad for the cloud of smoke and the soft sound. At least she alerted others to her presence, unlike some other bats he could mention. They were totally doing it on purpose.

“I’ve gone through the first three underground vaults,” Catgirl told them, leaning against a desk casually, “there’s nothing of interest there, unless one of you guys is secretly a massive Tolkien fan. In which case, I won’t judge, okay I’ll judge a little bit, because like nerd alert, but –“

“Misfit,” Damian cut her off shortly.

The girl paused, probably expecting a longer reprimand as they all were. It never came however. Peeved, she continued.

“Just reporting my findings do far,” she shrugged, “you guys have no idea just how many secret vaults that man has. Do you think he’s farming them or something? Is he breeding secret vaults? Do vaults go through mitosis?" 

“Keep looking,” Cassie said, “we need to turn this whole place upside down while they’re too busy fighting off the League of Assassins. You’re the only one who can teleport to places you’ve never been in before and—“

“—we don’t want to break walls and alert them,” the teleported finished, “I know.”

“This place is massive,” Conner sighed, “even with Bart and I doing things at super speed, we’ll never find anything.”

As to puncture Conner’s point, a streak of yellow and red whooshed past him and to the middle of the room.

“Guys I found something!”

The four young heroes turned to where Bart had just appeared. He looked rather excited.

“What is it?” Cassie asked him.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, what does it look like?”

“I… don’t know." 

Cassie and Connor both groaned.

“Waitwaitwait, I swear I’m not kidding!” Bart insisted, “The League of Assassins have a covert op team trying to break into a room upstairs. Apparently, there’s something really important there.”

“But is it something _we_ care about?” Catgirl questioned skeptically. 

“That might explain why Talia wanted us here. As an additional distraction,” Damian pointed out. Connor wasn’t big on parents, but there was something chilling about an eleven year old referring to his mother by her given name.

“C’mon guys, anything the League of Assassins is up to is probably no good,” Bart urged, “we should at least check it out.”

“You’re right,” Cassie agreed, “I don’t like the idea of turning a blind eye to them.”

“It could interfere with Huntress’s mission,” Damian pointed out.

“Not if I pop in and check it out before they can break in,” Catgirl pointed out.

“Go for it.”

“It’s an unnumbered room two floors above us, behind the elevator,” Bart told her.

She nodded.

**Pop!**

“Well this certainly makes things easier for us.”

Like father, like son. His deep, growl of a voice broke the casual atmosphere in the room. Conner hadn’t even heard him approaching, and the blood in his veins turned to ice the second his felt the man’s breath on his neck. On his _neck_. He was standing right behind Conner – _centimeters_ away. His shadow had completely engulfed him. That would teach the teenager to stand idly next to the door. He had a feeling this wasn’t a mistake he was about to make twice.

You see, the thing about mistakes, is that they’re not always affordable when one is a hero. Mistakes mean someone gets permanently mauled, that someone gets killed, or that a whole city gets wiped out. Failure, can occasionally mean the end of the world. 

The people heroes worked against were dangerous. Few were afraid to kill, many were ruthless, and if they did make it on heroes’ radars, it wasn’t because they were harmless. No, the crowd heroes mixed with was powerful, cunning, lethal to underestimate. Maybe it was because they were so ridiculously gimmicky that people forgot how real there were, or perhaps it was because they were super-villains and that super-villains were only ever good at giving superheroes trouble.

But truth were, they weren’t so different from that creepy cab driver, from the guy who slips pills into drinks in clubs, or from that Nigerian Prince in your spam box. They could be anywhere, pop out at any time. Most of the time, they had better things to do, but all it took was one moment of misfortune, one time caught off guard, and that was it.

A hero was dead.

An dammit, it didn’t matter how brave someone was. Giving your life to save someone was one thing, but having death suddenly grab your neck was something else entirely. This was being in the middle of the road and seeing a truck speeding towards you. It wasn't just terrifying, it caught you off guard, and it didn't leave your mind any time to catch up.

The young clone was not ashamed for being afraid. He wasn’t even embarrassed of freezing up despite the years of fighting he had under the belt.

He knew he was dead. That he could have been killed had that been what the man wished for. That he was at his mercy. There was nothing else he could think about than the cold sweat on his forehead and the abrupt sinking of his heart.

Bart and Connor had blanked out in a similar fashion. None of them had expected, or even considered, _this_. This was a simple investigation turning into a showdown against Doomsday. It was having Darkseid show up where Mirror Master should have been.

Damian had sprung backwards and crouched like a cat ready to lash out. Cassie had also instantly taken up a fighting stance; her foot was poking at the leg of a desk, ready to flip it over and turn it into a shield.

“You were followed, imbecile!” Damian hissed at Bart, clearly too tense to remember he was supposed to be brooding in cold anger.

“I, uhm, I’m sorry?”

Conner was genuinely impressed Bart could muster the brain power to stammer at that moment. Then again, Bart’s mouth had probably gained sentient autonomy long ago.

“Damian, my child, is that any way to greet your father?” Bane asked calmly. He spoke slowly, smoothly, but like every word was an underlying threat. That he could afford to be so relaxed and patient in the presence of a speedster, a kryptonian and a demigod alone spoke of his battle worth.

Bane. Chosen Heir to Ra’s Al Ghul. Perhaps one of the most dangerous super-villains on the radar. He was massive – his build took up all the space in the door, and then some. Connor had fought bigger of course, but size didn’t matter when one had Bane’s rap sheet. The man’s file was deep inside the ‘DON’T ENGAGE’ folder in the Young Justice computer. Sometimes they read it instead of exchanging ghost stories during sleep overs. Ghost stories didn’t do much once you’ve encountered them a few times anyways. Bane stories only got all the more frightful.

“You’re no father of mine!” Damian spat.

“Teenage rebellion is beneath you, Damian,” Bane reprimanded him. He shifted behind Conner, probably crossing his arms or something similar.

The speed at which Damian jumped back further surprised everyone in the room. He couldn’t see Bane’s face from where he was standing frozen, but he imagined it had to be a bit shocked as well, judging by the following silence. 

The kid was absolutely terrorized. The slightest movement from Bane had him flinch. Conner seen that kind of expression somewhere before, but it gave him a headache thinking about it.

“Stay away from me,” he demanded. Firmly, but high-strung. 

“There’s no need to fight,” Bane said, “I have no desire send you all to the nearest hospital.”

No one even tried arguing that he wouldn’t win.

“Like you, I just want to know what’s behind that door,” Bane continued, “I will leave once this Catgirl tells me.”

“Promise?” Bart asked, pointing his pinky finger up. Conner took back his previous thought. Bart’s mouth didn’t have a mind of its own. Bart’s mouth was the one piloting Bart. Bart was a mouth.

Bart the mouth was giving Conner ulcers. They couldn’t afford to start a fight with Bane. He would kill them all. 

“I must say,” Bane ignored the speedster, “I was under the impression you were somewhat dead, Damian.”

“Death is rather temporary nowadays,” Damian pointed out.

Once again, no one argued. The lives they led, seriously.

“In that case,” the monster of an assassin continued and Conner could feel him rummaging in his pockets. “I will not ask why you felt the need to hide yourself from me, but doing so must have required you to cut your supply. I do, after all, keep track of distribution everywhere in the world.”

He threw something small at Damian, who must have caught it purely by reflex.

Immediately, the boy dropped the item like it had burned his hands and placated himself to the wall, as if trying to phase through it to get further away. His breathing had picked up, and Conner was starting to fear the little boy’s body was going to blow.

Vials rolled on the floor. Damian couldn’t take his eyes off them. His hands had taken to clawing at his own arms, perhaps in an attempt to restrain himself from reaching out to the swirling green liquid.

“You need them if you’ve gone cold turkey for so long, my son.”

Venom.

Damian was eleven fucking years old.

Without a second thought about impending deaths, Superboy elbowed Bane in the groin. It follows that all Hell broke loose and all afterwards, but that was routine.

* * *

“Here.”

Stephanie accepted the mug Superman gave her and the man sat next to her. They were running op on both the Watchtower and the LexCorp excursions from the YJ Manor, and neither were being very eventful. Young Justice was just stifling through random offices and labs, whilst Selina and Cass were tinkering through the Wachtower’s alarm system.

“Mmh.”

Stephanie took a sip, and immediately spat it out. Her face scrunched on itself as she smelled the content of the cup.

“What the hell is that?” She asked.

Superman raised an eyebrow. “Coffee. Black. Like you wanted.”

“Oh gross,” Stephanie grimaced, tasting the bitter left on her tongue. Sheesh, no wonder Bruce kept stealing hers. “Bleh.”

“I _asked_ if you wanted cream or sugar in it,” Clark reminded her, much like a stern parent who’d told their kid to go to the bathroom _before_ the four hour car ride.

“I _know_ ,” Steph whined, “but Bruce always takes it black and I thought maybe if I emulated Bruce I’d be a better Batman and get a hold of the situation. Maybe the secret’s in the coffee.”

“There’s no way that would have worked.”

“It was worth a shot,” Stephanie shrugged, slumping on the back of her chair. “God, I hate waiting.”

“Same,” Superman agreed, “I’m so used to being out there. I don’t like this side of things.”

They sat there looking at the screen. Nothing was changing.

“Hey, have you spoken to Superboy recently?" 

Stephanie tried to think of her most recent chat with the clone. Or with, like, anyone. “Uhm, I don’t think I’ve spoken _spoken_ to anyone lately, actually,” she admitted, quite disturbed at her own realization, “wow, I’ve basically just been arguing about strategies and giving out orders.”

“Oh,” Clark said, disappointed, “nevermind then”

“Why?”

The Kryptonian scratched the back of his head, “He said he wanted to talk.”

“Ouch,” Stephanie winced, “breakup alert.”

Superman’s face fell, “Do you think he wants to stop wearing my family’s shield?” 

“Aw, Supes!” Steph chided, “You make me feel bad for teasing you. Of course he probably doesn’t want that.”

“But what if he does?” 

“Why would he stop now?” Stephanie asked him, “If he didn’t want it, he wouldn’t have worn it when he came back to Young Justice. Superheroes change uniforms all the time.”

“Yeah. That makes sense,” Clark reasoned, “I’ve just been absent from his life for so long, I don’t really know much about how he feels. Do you know he can’t grow? He’ll be sixteen forever.” 

“Some people dream of that.”

“Not people like Kon,” Superman muttered, “not people who have friends that will outgrow them. It’s a terrible thing to be still in a world that moves.”

“Exhibit A,” Stephanie sighed as she looked back to the screen. 

Superman chuckled. 

“So is that why you left your job at the Planet?” Stephanie asked, hesitantly, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t and It’s not,” the alien answered, “it’s a lot more complicated than that.” He paused, putting together his words in his head, “I used to think I wanted to be normal, and I used to fear that I might lose my humanity one day if I weren’t. But you know, after years of fighting bad guys, after seeing the worst humanity has to offer, I realized that my love for mankind would never go away. I still wanted to save people, I still believed they were fundamentally good. That’s how my parents raised me, to care and to love. There’s too much that I owe to this planet. So maybe I’d lose touch with popular culture, but I knew that deep down, I’d never scorn a human for being human, that I would always hold deep admiration for them, and that’s what mattered to me, not _being_ human.”

“And the thing is, what I really wanted, it wasn’t being normal. It was to _not_ have this terrible secret. Not need to hide and lie. For so long I’d been telling people who wanted to kill themselves, villains who’d only become so because society rejected them, bitter people who discriminated against others, that it was alright to be different, and one day my own words finally convinced me. I’m Kryptonian raised on Earth. I’m the most powerful being on the planet. It’s who I am. And that’s okay. And I should stop pretending I’m anything else.”

“From then on, it was really just one thing after the other. The Daily Planet was doing a great job even without me, especially with Lois Lane amongst them, so I figured I’d be more effective changing the world as Superman rather than Clark Kent. Once I’d accepted that I was alien and powerful, it became clear that I had to ensure no one could control or manipulate me, so I made sure not to have deep attachments.”

“Isn’t that lonely though?”

“It is,” Clark agreed, “but it’s alright. I’m not miserable. Far from it. Every time I can help, it makes me happy. That’s what makes me the happiest, in fact. Having the weight of secrets lifted from my heart, it makes me feel lighter. Of course I’d rather have friends than not, but I _chose_ this trade off. I love this planet and its people with all my heart.” He met her eyes, and his gaze was so intense Stephanie was surprised there was no heat vision coming out. “So I will keep them safe, _at any cost_ that is mine to spend. That’s what I want.”

“So that’s where Batman’s been in this world, huh,” Stephanie mused.

“… What?”

“Nothing. It must be nice to be so unapologetic for who you are,” she told him, sincerely, “you’re a very different kind of inspiring than the Superman from our world.” 

“Uh, thanks?”

“No, thank _you_ ,” she returned, standing up with her mug, “I think I’ll have sugar and cream in my coffee after all.”

Superman beamed, “It does suit you better.”

“Yeah.” 

“No world needs two Bruce Waynes,” he told her with a knowing smile, “and it would be a great tragedy if yours were to lose a Stephanie Brown for it.”

She’d been trying to tell herself that a lot, back home. But hearing it from Superman, well, it made everything so much easier to believe. 

* * *

The lower floors of Lexcorp Tower had turned into something of a battlefield. On one side, the League of Assassins, and on the other, a plethora of Lexbots and hired guns. It was strange how such a mess was made to be so private. Both Luthor and the League preferred this under wraps, and there were shields to contain the noise and the explosions inside the building. To everyone else, it was just a normal work day. In the midst of the fight, however, there was nothing but violence.

Sometimes Kirk wondered what happened to make his life like this. Then he remembered the Man-Bat serum, and it really was all his own fault, wasn’t it? How he wished he could blame something else. Like the Joker. No one liked the Joker. 

Azrael slid next to him behind the statue he was currently using as a shield in the lobby. Some laser guns were attacking it ruthlessly, but Luthor apparently liked his interior decoration sturdy. The young man was barely working up a sweat.

“We haven’t advanced in a while,” Michael told him, “we should probably switch strategy.” 

Kirk screeched in response. It was difficult talking in his current form. He could manage somewhat, but… All that work to get a phD just to have the articulate capabilities of a beast.

“Stall…. Good…” He managed.

The younger man looked a bit confused, before he managed to put two and two together.

“Batman told us just to go along what the League asked us to do, as long as we didn’t kill anyone,” he replied, “we can’t let them suspect us.”

He had a point, but it made Kirk uneasy. He wasn’t overly fond of the League originally, especially ever since _someone_ had stolen his serum and made an army of Man-Bat ninjas. What they were doing, on top of it all, well, it was rather large scale. This wasn’t just getting information out of someone or stealing weapons. This was an all out war between two of the biggest fortunes in the world. It wasn’t a happy thought, but both Lex Luthor and the League of Assassins had the pull of a country, whether it be in military strength or political influence.

Did Batman even suspect what the League was making them do? Kirk was fairly certain they weren’t so aggressive in their world. He wouldn’t know, of course, due to them being on the underground side of things, but something just didn’t feel right about this.

“We need to break the barricade and get access to the emergency staircase,” Azrael continued.

“How?” Kirk asked with difficulty. He was a scientist, not a war general. Frankly, as young as he was in comparison, Michael was much more adapted to this kind of job than he was.

“We need to turn the Lexbots against Luthor’s hired gun,” an assassin said, “they don’t differentiate foes from friends using facial recognition. I just saw one of the hired men get fried after getting his uniform torn. I think there’s a chip in there. We need to deactivate as many as we can.” 

Michael and Kirk just stared blankly at the assassin because:  
1) When had he joined them behind the statue?  
2) All the other assassins were mindless yes-men. They didn’t just, have opinions.  
3) They recognized his voice.

“Focus,” he said, and focus they did.

He was wearing standard League gear, but there was no mistaking who he was. When he wanted to, Batman just had a presence that was impossible to ignore. He didn’t need the pointy ears and ominous cape to inspire fear, and he didn’t need an armour and a mask to take command. It was all in his voice.

Next to him, Kirk could feel Michael getting a bit nervous. He couldn’t blame the boy. This Azrael was relatively new to the job, and he couldn’t have met Batman, the real Batman, more than twice or thrice. He probably still thought of the man as an untouchable force, as someone far off his reach.

In no way did Kirk think himself his equal, but perhaps he was a bit more accustomed to his presence. They’ve been working against and with each other regularly for years after all. Sometimes Kirk helped with his investigation, and sometimes Batman made sure he could get him and his family under control before the police could shoot them down permanently. The thing was, the longer you knew him, the less mythical he became. He flaunted an image of fear, of ruthlessness and vengeance, but all there is to it was someone who wanted to help, who wanted to protect, who was always on the side of his enemies, in one way or the other. And that made him all the more extraordinary, albeit less intimidating. He would always be disagreeable, but his bark was so much worst than his bite.

And then there was Bruce Wayne.

It was strange that the only thing they could see of him were his icy blue eyes. They knew who he was, now. Difficult not to, when he had essentially revealed it on national TV before going into hiding. Somehow, knowing the man behind the mask… didn’t really change anything. In fact, it made _sense_. Wayne Entreprise had always extended help to the Langstorm family, offering them jobs or working on antidotes for the serum. So instead of having two men who helped him out a little, he had one who helped him out a lot, and when he said a lot… 

Kirk killed people. He was mindless sometimes, under the influence of the serum. He was rabid, dangerous, unpredictable. The papers called him a monster, the authorities wanted him put down, like a raging dog. Hell, he’d hurt Batman and his charges. Nearly killed them a few times.

If anyone hurt his children that way, even unintentionally, Kirk didn’t think he’d be capable of offering them a hand afterwards. But still Batman called him Kirk or Dr. Langstorm, never Man-Bat. It didn't matter how many times he relapsed into a mindless creature, how many times he committed atrocities. Batman was always giving him another chance, wanting to help him. Come to think of it, he always called them by their names. Pamela, Victor, Harleen, Harvey…

He wondered if the man was aware of how grateful he was. He wondered if he knew how much the Gotham rogues respected him sometimes. How much they _trusted_ him, even when he was impeding their plans. He wondered if he knew how much more the _person_ affected others, rather than the legend. 

Kirk wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t like Nightwing or Robin. He didn’t have a strong will. He couldn’t put his life on line like they did. He wouldn’t sacrifice everything for the good of Gotham. If he had to blow up the city for his family, he would. In this world though, where Francine wasn’t his wife, where Rebecca and Aron didn’t exist, where he had nothing to lose… there was no one he’d rather follow than the Batman.

So when he said “Give me control of your troops. I need to get inside.”

He did, and twenty minutes later, they were far up Lexcorp Tower.

* * *

Everyone said she was the most similar to Batman in the family, but Cassandra disagreed. In terms of physical skills, yes, perhaps. In terms of life philosophy, they certainly did share the same distaste for life outside of vigilantism. However, Batman was someone who denied himself entirely. It made him hard to look at sometimes, when he constantly took decisions he hated so much but that he deemed necessary. To him, his personal emotions and wants did not matter. They were a hindrance to the greater good, and his happiness its antithesis.

Cass, on the other hand, cherished her desires. It had always been the case, but perhaps even more so after the debacle with Deathstroke and David Cain. Losing her own will had reminded her how important it was.

So unlike her mentor, Black Bat gave in to her emotions. She laughed when she was happy and cried when she was sad. And when she was angry, when she wanted someone to suffer, then she fought, she hurt, she _cut_.

And God was she angry right now.

“Stop it,” Catwoman chided her, grabbing her wrist strongly, “this is not right. You can’t just lash out like that.”

Cassandra glared at her.

“Just,” the older woman suggested, gently taking the knife out of her hand and giving her an elastic instead, “just tie them up, alright?”

“Hmph,” Cassandra huffed, pulling those annoying golden strands into a bun. So the hairy hindrance would live yet another day. Why did they even care? She returned to her cable exploration under the monitor.

After having tried a few alarms, Catwoman and Black Bat had elected to head for the main security room to see if they could somehow get the system working again. The thief was better at dismantling security systems than repairing them, but she still knew her way around them quite expertly. The bad news was, no machinery in the Watchtower was short of complex, and they weren’t doing so good on time.

Another worrisome part of the equation was that Giovanni Zatara still hadn’t showed up. It was difficult to imagine that he would let this charade of a reveal go on if he truly was behind it all, but he made no move to get to Catwoman.

Cassandra never dodged attacks that wouldn’t hit either. Why was he so sure this one wouldn’t though? Fact is, Catwoman did know what happened. She could reveal the truth. Was there a reason he didn’t consider the possibility? Was he planning something else?

And she lost it. 

She lost track of which one was the cable she was supposed to follow back to its origin. That was what happened when you overthought things. It was too easy to lose sight of the main thread when so many others were entangled. They really could have made an effort to order the cables down there.

“Worst than earphones in a pocket,” Catwoman growled, echoing Cassandra’s thoughts. “Say what you want about Bruce being anal but at least he keeps his cable neatly labelled and lined up in alphabetical order.”

Someone was coming. Someone was there.

Cassandra didn’t have the time to slide out from underneath the table. She swiped her legs to hit Catwoman’s, tripping the woman just in time for a green bolt of light to miss right where her head had been.

Something grabbed her ankle and pulled her out, but the second she could see the ceiling light, Cass sent a knife her attacker’s way, and the green construct dissipated with his concentration.

“Lantern,” she greeted, as Hal Jordan lowered his shield. The knife dropped to the ground.

“ _Lantern? As in, Green lantern? Or, like Sinestro? Mogo? Tell me it_ _’_ _s not Mogo. What’s happening there?_ ” Stephanie asked them. She’d been listening in from the start, but she’d stayed silent to let them focus on the alarm system.

“Is there a reason the two of you are messing with our security system just before the meeting?” the man asked, hovering slightly. 

Catwoman rubbed her shoulder. She was injured. She must have hit it on the control table as she went down. “Do you always attack first and ask questions later, Jordan? I guess cop brutality exists in space as well.”

“ _Guys? Ugh, why don't we have visual?_ ”

“I have good reasons to believe you’re up to no good,” the space cop told her. 

“And what would that be, darling?”

The green lantern raised an eyebrow, and the two girls looked behind at their handiwork. The screen was showing about twenty different error messages, and there were cut cables dangling everywhere.

Alright.

That was rather incriminating.

“I don’t suppose you’re willing to believe that we were trying to repair the system,” Catwoman grimaced.

“Actually, I am,” Jordan grinned, “considering we’re the ones who turned it off.”

“ _We_?” Cass frowned.

“Yes, we.”

Two heavily armoured and armed men – no, one of them was a woman – came in after the lantern. Their gear was military, modified, but military nonetheless, and painted black completely. The woman had a red armband around her shoulder. Both their faces were hidden by gas masks.

Catwoman tensed.

“The Soldier,” she cursed.

“ _Oh crap_.”

“Catwoman,” he greeted back.

“You’re a ruthless man, Soldier,” the thief told him, lifting herself up and leaning against the dashboard, with surprising difficulty. It wasn’t just her shoulder. Damn it – she hit her head. Cass should have been more careful. “But I know your type. You’re also a good one. No one takes on your job without wanting to protect people.”

Cass followed her lead, “The meeting must stop. Dangerous. Everyone could be killed.”

“The meeting will be perfectly safe,” the Soldier’s sidekick informed them. She wasn’t backing off in any way, and that alone was enough to know they were already set on their next course of action.

They were good. Even underneath all that Kevlar and weaponry, Cass could tell. It was in how they carried themselves, how they walked, how they talked. They weren’t Cass good, not even Batman good, but they were close. Very close. Too close. Taking on both at the same time was doable, but with the lantern there, and Catwoman to protect on top of things?

Well.

“ _Do you need backup? Guys!_ ”

She was Cassandra Cain. 

“No need.”

In a swift movement, she sprung towards the Soldier. He blocked her first hit, something not even Nightwing would have managed, but it left him with his balanced shifted backwards. She took the opportunity to grab a police stick that was stuck to the back of his belt, something he couldn’t prevent without falling over and –

The sidekick was already on her case. A punch with the weight of a train was heading for Cassandra’s jaw, and she barely managed to slip by, tapping the arm away. She was wide open for a kick, but by the time Cass was sent flying backwards, her hands were already empty.

The clicking of the Soldier’s tongue made her smug.

Hal Jordan went down as the stick made contact with his head. He wasn’t unconscious, but he wouldn’t regain the focus to make construct any time soon.

“Why did you turn off the security system?” Catwoman asked as Cassandra jumped back into the fray.

The two soldiers’ teamwork was outstanding. The closest she had ever seen to it was between Batman and Nightwing, and even that wasn’t always so well in sync. It wasn’t pushing her back, but it kept her on her toes. It was a worthy challenge.

“This meeting _needs_ to happen,” the Soldier told her. “We couldn’t let anyone stop it. We didn’t think it would be _you_ , though.”

They made her dodge in the direction of the other’s attack. They blocked her view with a punch only to have the other swipe her feet. They played catch with each other’s weapon to make sure Cass couldn’t keep track of who had the knife and in which hand and since when did the Soldier have his sidekick’s gun? Had Cassandra been anyone lesser, she would have gotten completely lost.

“Why would you call a meeting if you don’t want it to happen?” the sidekick demanded.

But she wasn’t. She was Cassandra Cain. She was the Black Bat. She was –

Wrong.

She was wrong.

Their teamwork wasn’t perfect. It should have been, and if it was… Cass hated to admit it, but if it was exactly as the Soldier was expecting it to be, she wasn’t so sure she would have been capable of winning this fight. Individually, she trumped them easily, but that level of coordination… She was lucky, this time. It was flawed. The sidekick was making _mistakes_. She wasn’t responding to all her mentor’s cues. Injury? Internal conflict? No, no. She was in perfect shape. She was better than good, almost too good for – oh.

_Oh._

With a feint and a jump, Cassandra slid back to Catwoman’s side.

“Batwoman?” she asked, confused.

“ _Whoa what? Batwoman? Like,_ our _Batwoman? That_ _’_ _s not_ _–_ _why is she attacking you guys then?_ _”_

“We’re taking you in,” Batwoman told her, neither confirming nor denying anything. Except, it was quite clear what the answer was, and it was on purpose. She didn’t even ask what ‘Batwoman’ was.

The Soldier wasn’t fazed either, “You’re going to tell us everything you know about Wayne’s plans.”

“If you are who she thinks you are, we’re on the same side,” Catwoman tried to reason with them. “There’s someone dangerous out there. Really dangerous.”

“ _You’re_ the dangerous ones,” the Soldier growled.

“You’re in the same situation as us, Batwoman,” the cat continued, “trust us. Please.”

“We’re not in the same situation. We’re not even on the same side. I’m here to _stop_ you.”

Catwoman grit her teeth. It was time for a change of tactics.

“The rest of the heroes are going to be arriving soon,” she told them with a devious smirk, “who do you think they’ll believe? Their long time comrade Catwoman who’s possessed by their long time friend Zatanna, or the elusive Soldiers who spend half their days planning contingency plans against them?”

“Nice try, Catwoman, but we already know who to trust.”

Her face fell.

A multitude of other heroes had filed in, Hawkgirl at their front. That group, Cass knew she stood no chance against.

“After all, the Soldiers were personally vouched for by Gorgon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no I've made the mistake of placing Connor and Conner in the same scene what have I done this is so confusing.
> 
> Next up: Bane vs YJ, Cass kills the DC Universe (haha jk, she's screwed they're all screwed but like not really because then we wouldn't have a story anymore), Bruce vs Lex, Bruce vs Lex vs Talia, Babs vs Bruce vs Lex vs Talia. People die. This is all getting rather violent. Thank god _someone_ finally cuts the bullshit.


	31. Damn that's deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't fuck with Oracle. You just don't.

_Recap :_

_\- Young Justice was searching LexCorp Tower for Tim, Zach, or a remedy for Babs (who's been poisoned by Lex) and found a secret vault in which only Misfit can get in. Bane found them, gave Damian Venom vials and Superboy started a fight with him._   
_\- Superman is chilling at YJ mansion._   
_\- Damian has been down recently._   
_\- Tim did some pretty shady planning at the beginning of this fic._   
_\- Steph almost had a breakdown after Bruce made her the temporary boss of the Batfam, and her relationship with Damian kinda soured during that period._   
_\- Bruce gave out a lot of orders from Superman's fortress, some of which went to YJ._   
_\- Bart is a Time Master (not relevant to the plot in this chapter, but might explain his behaviour a bit more)_

_\- Bruce broke into LexCorp looking for Tim. He has an arrangement with Talia where he pretends to be LoA from his world. Man-Bat and Azrael were leading an army of ninjas into LexCorp which Bruce took control of._   
_\- Talia asked Bruce to give her all his alter ego's possessions but he stalled with some bs excuse._   
_\- Huntress went to LexCorp to 'assassinate' (read: rescue) Babs, but Babs turned on her and knocked her out._   
_\- Babs is working for Lex under blackmail (her baby and her father's lives) and a polygraph which means she can't lie to him. She is very pregnant._   
_\- Cyborg went missing but the reader (and Zach) know that he's in Giovanni's dungeons._   
_\- Giovanni and Lex are working together in some capacity._   
_\- In the very beginning, when Lex and bitch Babs didn't know Tim was a Bat yet, they still used him as a scapegoat by getting Talia to blackmail him ('the Calculator' AKA bitch babs had 'leaked' that Tim was working for Wayne) to plant a camera which was then found by YJ and made them suspect him even more._

_\- Steph called a meeting through Selina pretending to be possessed by Zatanna of all the superheroes in hopes of baiting the real person behind the JSA massacre._   
_\- It failed, he didn't show up, so Steph tried calling off the meeting._   
_\- It failed, the alarms were shut off, and Cass and Selina were caught by the Soldier and Cadet, who are working under Bab's orders._   
_\- Plebe AKA Flamebird was also caught by her cousin._   
_\- Dick and Jason were cornered by her in the Hive._   
_\- Cass thinks she's Batwoman and not Cadet._   
_\- Giovanni is behind the JSA massacre, and Wonder Woman knows this now._

 

_..._

_.._

_._

 

 

 

 

 

Immediately after having elbowed Bane, Superboy threw himself backwards, putting as much distance between him and the monster as he could.

They weren’t going to take a chance. What Superboy had done was already pushing it. It was one of the strange differences between their worlds, but in this one, Bane was known as the man who had broken _Superman’s_ back, and no one like their chances of facing him dead on. No one had managed to keep the alien out of commission for as long as he had, other than Doomsday. Hell, Damian wasn't sure his father could take on _this_ Bane.

They needed their trump card, _now_. Damian tried to call for it, but his voice stayed in his throat. He knew that if any sound came out, it would only do so as a whimper. But he had to give the order. He had to—

Wonder Girl smashed a hole in the wall, and wind coming from outside swept in.

“Connor!” she called.

Thank god for Wonder Girl.

Green Arrow took a deep breath.

“ _Gone, gone, the form of man_ ,” he started chanting, slowly, and immediately Bane knew he had to recalculate the threat levels of the archer.

He jumped backwards – not scared, he had fought magic before, but focused, ready for an actual challenge, for a fight he couldn’t yawn in the midst of.

“This is not possible,” he said. “I would have known if he was the Demon.”

“Oh, everything is possible,” Wonder Girl told him smugly. 

“ _Arise, the Demon_ …”

Bane tensed.

“ _Etrigan_!”

Time stopped in anticipation. Damian felt his heartbeat accelerate. It had to work. It had to work. He couldn’t fight Bane. He couldn’t even move his legs. He hated, he hated it so much, but he was completely paralyzed.

The archer and Bane stood in standstill, eyes locked on each other. Only the wind dared to talk. For a second. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.

“This is a bluff,” the man in a wrestler mask called.

“Nah, it’s a code word,” Kid Flash smirked.

And then Bane crashed into the next wall, and the next, and the next, pushed by a red and blue streak. By the time everyone in Young Justice had composed themselves and let the fear wash away, Bane and Superman had long taken their fight past their field of vision.

The tension in Damian released itself. It should have come as a relief, but all there was was a huge block of exhaustion falling upon his mind and body. Just being in the same room as Bane had completely drained him.

“We really should have gone for a shorter cry for help,” the archer deadpanned.

“Are you _kidding_?” the speedster asked, “This was amazing, you should’ve seen his face!”

“He wears a mask, Bart.”

“Even with super speed, it takes a few seconds for Kal to get here,” Superboy explained with a shrug, “and the chant short-circuited his brain for long enough.”

**Pop!**

“S’up! Oh -- that’s a new person-shaped hole,” Misfit observed, confused, “superhero stuff, I suppose. Anyways, I think you guys need to see what’s in the secret room. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but, uhm, I picked this up, and there’s more from where it comes from.”

She handed them a piece of paper.

“That’s gibberish,” Green Arrow pointed out.

It was printed gibberish, except that it wasn’t gibberish but code, and that it wasn’t printed in ink. 

“This isn’t red ink,” Superboy told everyone, “that’s _blood_.”

“It’s Assembly code,” Damian added. “I can’t read it. It’s too low-level for me." 

It wasn’t just the language used. There was something about this page that told Damian he was way out of his depth. Why would anyone want to print code in _blood_? In fact, why would anyone _print_ code at all?

“Low-level,” Wonder Girl repeated, “is that easy to crack?”

The level of ignorance in youngsters nowadays, seriously. It was deplorable, Damian mentally sighed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to speak it out loud. What right did he have to criticize anyone? They had all activated like a well oiled machine after Superboy had triggered the fight, and Damian had frozen like some useless rookie who needed two swings to cut off one head.

His cheeks and chest were burning. Rarely had he been so humiliated.

“It means it’s closer to how machines think than humans do,” Kid Flash told her, “only absolute geeks know Assembly. In my time it’s basically the same as learning Latin.”

‘ _Watch your tongue, speedster_ ,’ Damian wanted to hiss, but he only voiced the later half, “I’m fairly certain Gordon or my father could tell us what this does. But they’ll need the full script. Without context, this is pointless.”

“There’s more in the room,” Misfit told them, “I’ll see if I can unlock the door from inside. You guys take care of the ninjas standing guard outside. There’s something else you need to see… I think it might have something to do with the JSA massacre.”

Her last words were like a switch. The JSA massacre – that was what had triggered everything, and aside from knowing that the Bats _hadn’t_ done it, it was still one of the biggest mystery in this whole mess.

“… All right,” Wonder Girl agreed, “good plan.”

After Misfit disappeared, they followed Kid Flash who already knew the way. As expected, they encountered a few ninjas, but none of them were a match for the group of young heroes. Damian knew League ninjas were good – but they were good in comparison to foot soldiers, police officers, and hired bodyguards. Metahumans had long since created an arena of their own, and only the elite of the league could step on its soil.

It was unlikely that Ra’s or Talia would spare another of their prime fighters where Bane had been sent.

And so it only took minutes for Young Justice to get to the elevator behind which the secret vault was sitting, and all there was left was wait for Misfit to do her thing. 

Damian took a seat on a potted plant, and fiddled with the content of his pocket. He wanted to make himself small, quiet. He was scared they would look at him and realize he had done nothing during the fight. Or maybe he was hoping that as long as the subject didn’t pop up, there was a chance it would stay buried somewhere dark, unreachable, and hopefully prone to spontaneous combustion.

Unfortunately, Damian’s wishes went unanswered. 

“Damian,” Wonder Girl asked him, “you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Damian spat back.

“Right, because that’s not Superhero talk for ‘I’m crumbling inside but comic book etiquette of noble characters demands that I do so in silence so I don’t come off as whiny and so I can double the angst levels and attract the sympathy of readers’. “

“What on Earth are you on about, harlot?”

“One, call me harlot again and you’ll find your teeth in your digestive track,” the demigod warned him, “and two, you’re allowed to have feelings and doubts, kid. The only people who want you to be miserable are your enemies, and every time you allow yourself to bottle it all up, they win a little.” 

“I… have never thought about it that way.”

How different would the Bats be if they lived by that philosophy?

“Our Tim used to say that a lot,” she told him with a bittersweet smile, “he always knew when we were being absolute idiots.”

“Hm.”

The demigod sighed, “I’m not going to force you to talk if you don’t want to, but just keep the option in mind.”

She started turning away and for a second Damian was going to let her. But then something incredibly stupid inside his brain clearly occurred, because the next moment he shouted “Wait!”

Wonder Girl obliged, but the rest of Young Justice had also been alerted.

He was cornered. He could backtrack, but then they’d know he was backtracking, which meant they’d know for sure that he was a coward and that what had happened earlier had not been a fluke. Or he could speak, but he found that he had lost his capability to word and sentence and stuff.

So stupid took over again, and he hesitantly revealed the Venom vials from his pocket, those he had snatched from the floor before heading out.

And then everyone was suddenly clustered around him.

“Why did you keep—“ Superboy started, almost angry, but Wonder Girl held him back. The had some kind of glaring competition, which led to Superboy and the rest of the team taking a deep breath and calming down. 

Wonder Girl took a few seconds to compose herself as well.

“Do you want to take them?” She asked cautiously.

“A bit,” he admitted, “but I’m not that weak. The venom was,” he closed his eyes tightly, remembering his first week in this world, days of vomiting and being sick and withdrawal that had made him want to rip out his internal organs and scream a scream that could only be heard in the deepest levels of hell. “The venom was bad. It wasn’t the worst."

“What do you mean?” Green Arrow asked, “what did they _do_ to you?”

So much concern from someone he barely knew.

“Nothing that my own Mother hadn’t in my world,” Damian told them defensively, “but, it was different this time. I was… aware. I don’t think Leviathan is. I don’t think Leviathan knows that there’s more, that it’s not the only way to live life.”

“Walking in someone else’s shoes does that,” Wonder Girl told him.

“You don’t _understand_ ,” Damian snapped, “I was the _same_. I followed the League’s rules growing up. I believed that someone’s worth was measured by their skills. I believed that life was dispensable. I believed that I was entitled to everything because I was an Al Ghul and a Wayne and that that made me royalty of all worlds. But I got out, and I learnt that life had value. That, _ugh_ , attachments, have value.”

“That’s good, right?” Kid Flash asked, “why do you look so glum?”

“What if,” Damian continued, slowly, voicing perhaps what had become his worst fear since coming to this world, “I just traded one cage for an other? My father does not impose less rules than my mother, and his beliefs, are just as extreme, though opposite from hers. What if, this realization happens again? What if I start thinking he might be wrong too?”

Young Justice went quiet, but Wonder Girl clearly saw through him.

“Was that last one really just a ‘what if,’ Damian?” She asked quietly.

“I spent _weeks_ pretending to be Leviathan before I found out I wasn’t alone in this world, but during those weeks, my mind was my own,” he admitted, “Everything Talia, Ra’s and Bane said was meant for _him_ so it was easy to keep a distance from it. It was terrify – ahem, slightly uncomfortable having no one to use as reference, but for the first time in my entire life, I got weeks where no one was whispering in my ears telling me what to _think_.”

And then he’d reunited with Drake and his stomach had performed uneasy flips at the sight of his schemes. And then he’d seen Brown crumbling under the pressure of wanting to please his father, and all he had wanted to do was to goad her into rebelling once more, into breaking it off with the Bats. And then Brown had revealed to him that his father was _fallible_. And then he’d seen Young Justice in action, and was there really a need to usurp them in the first place, Father?

“And I’m starting to ask, how do I… _chose_? How do I _know_? What if there’s, _more_ , that I don’t see, and that Father, that maybe Grayson, isn’t… _entirely_ … right…? How do I tell if I’m missing out on a philosophical concept? How do I tell if the problem is them, or me? Will I even realise if I’m being brainwashed, _again_?”

“Damn, that’s deep,” Kid Flash whistled, earning a cuff on the head from Green Arrow.

“You can’t really ever know for sure,” Superboy told him, “I think." 

“So that’s it?” Damian fumed, “Then what’s the point in trying to do  _right_? What’s the point of choosing anything?” 

“Just because you can’t be perfect doesn’t mean you can’t be better,” Wonder Girl told him patiently. She took a seat next to him, preparing for a long speech, “Look, morality is a difficult topic. Some people don’t believe it even exists. What I think, is that everyone builds theirs little by little, using the blocks they have at hand. And those blocks, they’re options, they’re point of views, arguments, ideas, things learnt from others. You pick those you like and reject those you don’t, but you can only ever compare them to those in your sight.”

“No one can take in account every possible point of view. Omniscience is a gift for gods, not people. But you can get closer to what you’d build if you could have every block in existence. Listen to people, travel, open your mind to new ideas. Do not treat debates as fights, but rather as exchanges of ideas. Don’t be afraid to be convinced, but don’t accept words for truths without thinking them over either. The only way to escape this doubt of yours is to witness the world with your own eyes, not through others, Damian. The vaster your viewpoints are, the harder it is for one to win you over without a fight, and if it does win, than that’s how well it suits you.”

“Damn, that’s deep.”

“Shut up, Bart,” she snapped. “Diana has always taught me to treat serious questions with an equal level of seriousness, and that’s a teaching I doubt I’ll ever reject.”

“Besides, Cassie’s right,” the younger Green Arrow said, “doubting your own opinion is a good sign. It just means you’re growing up. From what I understand, you were born in this. It’s amply time you get a choice.”

“I… er,” Damian struggled to say, “thank you. For your words. Sidekicks.”

He was angry at how angry he sounded. It was the only way he could get the words out though, by spitting them out. Sometime in his youth it became ingrained that help and pity were the same, and that there was something deeply shameful about receiving either. Yet Wonder Girl had answered him seriously, and so he perhaps had a duty to consider her reply just as much as she had considered his question. 

“No prob,” Superboy grinned, “I mean, that’s what we made Young Justice for, anyways, right? To get away from our mentor’s shadows but still be allowed to be, you know, _us_. I’m sorry I forgot that for two years.”

**Creeak.**

“Door’s open, nerds,” Misfit interrupted, “Woah, when did the atmosphere get so mushy in here?” she huffed, “It’s always the same thing. I teleport away for _two seconds_ and the world goes 180 degrees to the right.”

While everyone else filled into the secret room, Kid Flash hung behind, catching Damian throwing a glance at the vials in his hand. The speedster gently closed Damian’s fingers over them.

“Keep them,” he said, when the others had looked like they had wanted him to throw them away, “having the choice to do the wrong thing is sometimes better than having no choice at all.”

“Also,” he added, “my advice? Stop overthinking.”

He tapped Damian on the shoulder and went to follow his friends. The young Robin did feel lighter.

* * *

Bruce had been in many meetings. It was one of the great tragedies of being the rich CEO to one of the most prominent companies in the world. He trusted most of them with Lucius, to be honest, or more recently, with Tim, but it was quite the impossible task to avoid all of them. He wondered, sometimes, how it would look if he put everything he gave to Batman, into Bruce Wayne. He knew business, he knew negotiations, he knew numbers.

It looked like he was about to find out.

Predictably, the army of ninjas he led into breaking into LexCorp had turned against them. They’d fought it off well, but once Kirk was captured and Bruce more focused on protecting him than himself, well.

They were led into one of the conference rooms, and Bruce found that it wasn’t empty. Lex Luthor was already sitting there, looking disgruntled. He was accompanied by Barbara, who’s stomach was growing dangerously close to its due date, and Huntress, who seemed to have been numbed by some drug. She was awake, but it was a struggle staying that way.

“Wayne,” Luthor grimaced, as Kirk, Azrael and Bruce took seats around the oval table. It was a really nice room, modern, with glass walls, one for business suits and PowerPoint presentations. Not whatever assortment of people was in there now.

“Luthor,” he returned dismissively.

“Hey Bruce,” Barbara greeted him. She was composed, casual, but Bruce didn’t miss the relief as her shoulders relaxed a bit. He only hoped to live up to it. He was glad for the chance to finally see her face to face. There was always that stone of anxiety in his stomach whenever he had to go too long without seeing or hearing one of his… associates. A tiny voice in his head, asking if he was sure they were alive. A crippling doubt, that maybe out of sight meant out of existence. “Lex and I kidnapped Helena but then we got kidnapped by ninjas. The lives we lead, I swear. How was _your_ week?”

“Barbara,” he replied back. Everyone present knew about them being associates. “Are you hurt?”

She laughed, and he could tell it had been a while for it to come so easily. “No offense, B, but have you seen your face?”

He was quite aware that the bruising from his fight with Diana wasn’t entirely gone.

“Barbara.”

“I’m fine, physically.”

“P’son,” Huntress managed, “Poison.”

“Explain,” he demanded, all the warmth from their reunion gone for the cold, cold ice that now ran in his bones.

“He’s threatening my baby,” Barbara told him plainly, “on top of my father. The poison won’t hurt me.”

“Anyone moves to help one hostage, the other one dies,” Bruce deduced.

Barbara nodded.

Bruce turned his glare to Luthor. It was cheap, he knew this Luthor had never been at the receiving end of a Bat glare, and that he was used to a vapid Bruce Wayne. Still, cheap was not always bad quality, and he took pleasure in seeing the bald billionaire try to hide his discomfort. 

“You don’t scare me, Wayne,” Luthor spat at him.

“Then you’re daft on top of evil,” Bruce replied coldly.

“He’s quite right, Luthor,” Talia agreed, strolling in like she owned the place. “This Bruce Wayne is quite different from ours. Sharper.”

“Now, I have something to discuss with you two,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting you today, Bruce, but this will be more efficient.”

She slid out two pieces of paper and handed them to the two billionaires.

Bruce, out of habit, read everything thoroughly, thrice, and including the fine print. During this time, Luthor scoffed.

“This paper would hand LexCorp and everything I own to you.”

She had discussed as much before. This time, however, she had dropped the pretense of buying into his lie. He had considered the possibility she hadn’t been fooled, but having her play along to fool him into believing she had been fooled had been enough for him. It was simple, really. He seriously couldn’t understand what exactly Jordan found that was so tangled up in his strategies.

“Why would I sign it?” Luthor asked her, “you need me alive. You _need_ my signature.”

“You really must choose your associates more carefully,” Talia advised Luthor, “Giovanni panicked when you stopped communicating with him; he switched sides the second he saw that we were winning over you. We made a deal, you see. He gave us Timothy Drake, and we captured and gave him Cyborg instead.”

Well, at least now Bruce knew where Tim was. That was lucky. It also quite possibly meant that Talia had no intention of letting any of them out alive, but Bruce would cross that bridge when they got there.

“That _idiot_!” Luthor swore.

“And it seems that whoever was hitching a digital surveillance ride on Cyborg neglected to restore their firewalls behind them.”

Luthor turned to Barbara, who was wearing the most vindictive and malicious grins Bruce had ever seen her wear. There were very few people Barbara genuinely hated with her whole heart, and it seemed Luthor had somehow managed to place his name right under the Joker’s.

“You – You did this on purpose!”

“You mean did I leave blackmail material that would certainly cost you your freedom and your fortune lying around for anyone to find and use?” She asked, “Pretty much.”

“The poison—“ Luthor threatened her.

“I didn’t reopen Cyborg’s firewalls until I had set up a contingency for that,” Barbara informed him, “I’m angry, not stupid. I told you you’d regret messing with me, _Lex_.”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” Talia asked, pushing the paper towards the man.

Luthor snatched the pen, his face tomato red. It wasn’t often that he was so humiliated. He signed his named so sharply Bruce almost expected the paper to tear.

“Unintentional, but we work well together,” Talia told Barbara.

“I’m guessing it’s not going to last,” the red head sighed.

“Afraid not,” Talia confirmed, “but rest assured, it is not entirely personal.”

“A bit though, I hope?”

“I don’t know if it was you or your counterpart who leaked to me that Timothy Drake was working for Bruce Wayne with the intention of incriminating him further, Mrs. Gordon-Kord,” Talia told her, “but I do not appreciate being used.”

“Wasn’t me,” Barbara told her, “but I won’t cry over it.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Talia turned her attention to Bruce, “I believe you have a paper to sign as well.”

“And I believe you have a threat to make first?”

“Do you not think I have something to use against you?”

“I know you do. I’m curious to know which one you will use.”

A small volley of clicks sounded in rapid succession.

“Ah.”

The ninjas in the room all had guns pointed towards Barbara, Huntress, Kirk and Azrael.

“Yes,” Talia sighed, “rather old fashioned, I agree, but I have reasons to believe you’re a rather old fashioned man yourself.”

“Can’t go wrong with the classics,” Bruce deadpanned.

He wasn’t going to let anyone get killed. That wasn’t even a question. It wasn’t on the table. The problem was, they couldn’t take those gunmen. No one was close enough to Barbara for her to do anything, and her pregnancy would have made it hard anyways. Huntress was still drugged out, and for all she acted tough, her eyes weren’t focused. Kirk was tied up. He was a good brawler as Man-Bat, but he had no training. He couldn’t get out of his restraints. Azrael did, but with just the two of them, they couldn’t take down all the ninjas before a bullet flew.

Chatting was an option, but Talia would know he was stalling.

Still, he really didn’t want to sign this paper. It was true that his alter ego didn’t deserve owning Wayne Entreprise, but Talia had just gotten ownership pf LexCorp and all its assets, on top of the immense fortune that the League of Assassins already had. Handing over Wayne Enterprise meant giving the Al Ghul financial dominion over the US, and quite possibly, the world. He needed to stall for more time, hope that Zachary was done rescuing his sisters in arms or that Stephanie had someone dragged LexCorp in her chaotic plans.

He would have missed it had he been a little more panicked, but he saw it. A small nod, from Barbara.

So he stopped asking questions and signed.

“Good, good. I suppose it’s time to make my swift exit, then” Talia told them, ignoring the thunderous looks she was receiving from all the seated attendance.

“Oh. Oh no,” Barbara gasped, but there was nothing woeful in her monotone voice. She was smiling inside, Bruce could see, and he just knew Oracle had taken over the world again. “I’m really sorry Talia, see, this is a bit awkward, but I may have ruined your plans a little as well, by accident.”

* * *

Selina and Cassandra were thrown into a cell in the main Hall of the Watchtower. The Justice League satellite was already more crowded than usual, with at least two dozen heroes having arrived already, but it was far from being what it would be as the meeting grew close. Now Selina wasn’t exactly the resident expert on altruism, but she wasn’t going to let whatever Gorgon was up to happen. She wasn’t selfish enough to allow another unwarranted massacre to happen.

The cell wasn’t empty. Two people were already being held there, bound and gagged. The first was Plebe, who Selina wasn’t entirely sure on her identity. Considering the other occupants of the cell, however, it wasn’t a far stretch to assume she was a Bat. God, how many were there running around Gotham nowadays?

The second prisoner was more recognizable, on the account of him not wearing a mask. She hadn’t interacted with the Red Hood much since his return, but she could still see some familiarity with the little boy she used to know. It was a real pity what had happened to him.

He seemed to light up at the sight of Cassandra, but neither of them could move much.

Selina could wriggle her fingers in her restraint.

It was small, but it was all she needed for a slither of hope. She took in the cage, and the design of her handcuffs. Alien, no doubt. They weren’t taking any chances. Perhaps they were still bitter at Bruce’s escape.

The biggest problem was Mr. Miracle, who stood guard near them. Back in their world she had always wanted to find out how they’d fare against each other when it came to escapism, but Bruce had straight out told her he’d put all his money and his children on the New God, and that had answered that.

She explored the cracks and joints of her handcuffs with her touch. She was glad the cage was backed against a wall, they couldn’t see what her hands were doing behind her back. Mr. Miracle had been thorough; he’d taken out all her lockpicks, but thank god he was a decent man.

She managed to make a hole in the back of her clothes, and she patiently prodded out the wire of her bra. Every additional hero stepping inside the room added pressure, but she was nothing if not better under stress. She couldn’t let it get to her. She needed to be patient.

Very patient. 

Slowness was key (pardon the pun). A few more minutes were definitely worth not getting noticed. Half an hour. An hour.

 **Click**.

There.

So getting out of the handcuffs was feasible. Good. She needed to plan her next steps before getting out completely. The lock of the cage was too far to reach it without moving. Cassandra could, realistically, but Cassandra was also too far from Selina. The way Mr. Miracle was keeping an eye on them, the smallest twitch in any direction was going to sound the alarm.

Maybe she could goad one of the supers to destroy the cage. Was there anywhere they could hit without hurting any of the prisonners? Upwards mayb --

A sudden weight fell on her back, pinning her to the ground. It was just barely if she had the leeway to glance sideways. Who she saw was certainly not someone she expected.

“Richard?” She hissed.

The young man was sitting on her back, an escrima stick holding her head in place as well. He could hurt her quite a bit from their current position, with the right twist of her arms or a pinch to a nerve – but he didn’t. This was a soft restraint, careful and gentle.

“Can you get us out?” She asked him.

“It’s fine,” he whispered to her, “just listen to what she says.”

Next to her, Jason grumbled something under the duct-tape.

“You may not agree, Hood,” Nightwing sighed, “but she’s _right_. It _is_ for the best.”

Wait, was he on the other side? Of all the people to betray Bruce, Dick Robin-Nightwing-Batman Grayson?

“Have you lost your mind?” Selina asked. She hated to admit it but part of her was genuinely concerned. Perhaps he'd hit his head as well?

“ _Listen,_ Selina.”

Not everyone was there. It had been an impossible task to gather all the heroes from the start. There were always those with urgent missions, emergencies, those who were undercover, momentarily dead, or invalid for X or Y reason. There were those who simply played lone wolf, and those who were shunned by all the other heroes. There were those who didn’t care much about the massacre, and those who knew they could simply ask their friends about it later on. 

Still, attendance was impressive. Selina wondered how anyone still chose crime with all these colourful powerhouses around. The hall was packed with maybe fifty or sixty costumes, leaving only a small circle of breathable space for the speaker. Everyone was catching up, and some were picking fights which were quickly broken up.

“Richard,” Selina tried reasoning with him, “do you even realise how dangerous this gathering is? If something were to go off—“

“Nothing will,” he told her, “relax. Gorgon used her network to poke around and make sure no one was planning anything.”

“Gorgon wants-to-kill-us-all _Gorgon_?” Selina asked to clarify. She couldn’t throw Dick off, not with her head and shoulder hurting as much as they did. She loved Cassandra and all, but the young woman seriously had to learn something about handling other costumes with care.

“Babs has always been the best of us,” the young man told her, and god was his love sick grin sickening. When were these two going to get hitched? It was becoming seriously annoying at this point. “Trust her if you don’t trust me.”

"She's been working against us."

"She's been working against _Bruce_."

Infatuation bias aside, Oracle _was_ heavy credentials.

At the center of the room, Cadet, or rather, Batwoman, was speaking. If there was one aspect where she resembled her male counterpart, it was in their charisma. She spoke clearly, and with a conviction that was difficult not to be bewitched by. In this world, she was a sidekick, but there was not one hero at the Watchtower who was looking down on her.

It was their confidence, Selina guessed. Maybe people could feel that they weren’t faking, that they really knew what they were doing. And amongst heroes and vigilantes, good people, with good hearts, and absolutely no guidelines, it wasn’t all that common to find self-assurance as solid as theirs was.

They were stable, reliable, and they showed it. 

“We need to talk about Bruce Wayne,” she stated, plainly, clearly. “It wasn’t so long ago that he was standing here on trial, and that, against all odds, he escaped. We need to talk about Red Speedy, Catgirl and Black Canary. About Catwoman, for those who knew of her. Comrades, who fought by your sides for years, and who have recently been found guilty of betraying you for a criminal. We need to talk about Nemesis, Man-Bat, Leviathan and Azrael. We need to talk about about these two young men,”

She pointed at Jason and Dick, and the later had the gall to smile and wave.

“About a girl named Stephanie Brown and a woman named Vicki Vale. We need to talk about Plebe, about Gorgon, and about _me_.”

If her hook hadn’t been effective, that last word was enough to capture everyone’s attention. There were far from a stupid bunch, superheroes. They knew what she was implying.

“These past few weeks,” she continued, “each and every one of you has felt betrayed, toyed with. Recent events have been nothing but chaotic, incomprehensible, and on many levels, entirely _futile_. These people, _my_ people,”

She took a deep breath.

“-- have been messing around with your lives, like it didn’t matter how it affected you. And you know what? They may have been comrades, or complete strangers to start with, but the truth is, it didn’t. You don’t mean anything to them. Or at least, you don’t mean to them what they mean to you, it goes both ways, and that makes all difference.”

“It’s time to cut the bullshit,” Batwoman told them plainly, “We’re not evil and we’re certainly not trying to hurt anyone. What we are, is confused. We’re not from this universe. We have no idea what we’re doing. We tried solving this on our own, but we can’t. We need your _help_.”

“I’ll second her.”

Wonder Woman walked in the room, but not without difficulty. She was bleeding, and clearly injured. Her right hand was holding her stomach like her insides would spill out if she didn’t, and by Superman did she look _pissed_. Whatever had done this to her was nowhere to be seen.

Aquaman raised an eyebrow. “You knew?”

“No, but you wouldn’t believe how much sense it makes. Gods above, that answers most of my questions actually.”

When she reached Batwoman’s side, she stabbed the floor rather violently with her sword, making everyone flinch, and then used it to lean her body against.

“On a similar thought,” she said, reigning in her anger, “we need to talk about Giovani Zatara. He just gave his unwilling resignation from the Justice League reserve roster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: *chanting* Murder time, murder time, murder time... *end of chanting* Things go south. (and north, kinda? Some things happen which are terrible but others are actually quite a step forward in this mess, so...) Anywho, Bruce is a damsel, say what you want about Talia but she is good at weaselling her way out of trouble, and really, don't fuck with Oracle.


	32. Thin Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lex Luthor, Talia Al Ghul, Barbara Gordon, Bruce Wayne. When four people play with fire simultaneously, nothing short of the whole world burns with them.
> 
> Meanwhile, the young heroes of this world continue to unravel the threads the former have spun.

**_ RECAP: _ **

_\- Kate (known as Cadet) revealed everything about them being from another world to the whole hero community at the Watchtower._  
_\- Diana interrupted the meeting after returning from a fight with Giovanni._  
_\- Diana lent her lasso to Zach, so he could go to Shadowcrest immune to his father's magic._  
_\- Raven stopped the Titans from capturing Dick and Jason for the murder of Ted. In exchange for keeping Vicki hostage, the Titans now trust them to find Cyborg, whom was last seen by Zachary trapped in Giovanni's dungeons._  
_\- Giovanni has a tendency to partially mind wipe anyone Raven comes in contact with.  
_

_\- YJ went to LexCorp looking for Zach and Tim. Instead, they found a hidden room only Misfit managed to unlock. Inside, Misfit had found lines of code printed in blood._  
_\- The JSA was in fact killed by a mind controlled Justice League._  
_\- Around the moment of the Tragedy, the Booster Gold that was active in this world was actually the one from the Bats' world, who was investigating an inter dimensional breach._  
_\- Oliver confronted his son after the latter was found taking from his arsenal instead of going to the Watchtower meeting._

_\- Giovanni kidnapped Tim and gave Zach four days to turn himself in before he killed Tim._  
\- Zach found Traci 13 and Black Alice in Giovanni's dungeons. The magic team Shadowpact was there as well. He freed Nightshade (Eve Eden) so she could help free the two girls.  
_\- The Soldier and Kate found the Cave before the Watchtower meeting._  
_\- Ted Kord is supposed to be dead._

_\- Talia is blackmailing Bruce and Luthor into signing over their companies to her._  
_\- Barbara is hooked to a polygraph courtesy of Luthor._  
_\- Azrael and Man-Bat are in on the meeting because they were part of the LoA team that helped Bruce break into Lex Tower._  
_\- Huntress is in on the meeting because she was tasked by Talia to kill Barbara, betrayed Talia to help Barbara, and then was betrayed and drugged by Barbara._

 

.....

...

.

 

 

Cadet was a formidable speaker. Steady, and eloquent, but next to Wonder Woman, even a battle worn Wonder Woman, everyone melted in the shadows.

“I apologise for stealing the light for a moment, Cadet,” Diana told her, sincerely, “but this is urgent news, that I hope will support your claim.” She turned to speak to the whole room, “We have been chasing Wayne and his allies believing them responsible for the murder of our friends. I have reason to believe that Wayne is not the main conspirator behind the tragedy that befell upon us. Though I cannot divulge the detail right now, I have found evidence that Giovanni Zatara played a big part in the planning and the execution.”

There was a wave of protest, which Diana stopped before it could catch fire with a single raised hand.

“Look at me in the eyes and tell me I am lying,” she challenged. No one knew how much was careful planning and how much just came naturally, but Diana’s words held two meanings at once. On one hand, she was daring anyone to step up and declare they didn’t trust her – and to admit to that, to admit to such stupidity, was not in any hero’s repertoire.

On the other hand, Diana was asking them to take in the state she was in. Not just the injuries – the bags beneath her eyes, the crease between her eyebrows, the disgust that had crinkled her nose. This was the ugliest Diana had ever been seen, and the last time she had been remotely as ugly was when she had been led to believe her son had betrayed her for the murderer of her peers.

Diana was of the realm of gods; she was a creature of mythology. If perfection was but a concept, then so was she. For anything to _mar_ her skin – for anything to line her face like that of _Man_ –

Donna didn’t want to think about it.

Still, no amount of denial granted enough courage for anyone to step up.

“Another traitor?” Dove asked, infinitely more saddened than angry.

Her chiming voice, so innocent and pure, only reminded everyone of the poison in the air.

Nightwing gave a cough.

Nightwing. Gods, everything made sense. He _did_ know them. He _did_ care about them. The easy banter and everything… They were friends, in his world. He wasn’t looking at them right now, but he was putting too much effort in avoiding their eyes. Perhaps he didn’t want to raise his hopes that they would suddenly remember their friendship just because they knew the truth. The Titans were still altogether different people from their counterparts.

It seemed lonely. To be trapped in an alien world.

“I know we’re not your favourite people right now,” he said to the whole crowd, crouched over a scowling Catwoman, “can’t blame you, to be honest. We’re not really each other’s biggest fans at the moment either. But you can’t use our actions against our counterparts. Your Red Speedy and your Black Canary are not traitors – it’s been us from the start. And Arsenal? He found out about our situation and decided to help us get home, possibly to get his little brother back. They’re… They’re good people. Trust what you know about them, if you can’t trust me.”

But they could trust him. From the start, Donna had felt it. Raven had guaranteed it –

Raven.

“Raven,” she gasped, turning to Starfire and the White Flash. They gave her questionable glances. The three of them were all that was left of the Titans, with Cyborg missing and Arsenal revealed a traitor earlier.

They were far enough inside the mass of heroes that no one cared about their interactions. Everyone was whispering to each other anyway.

“She must have known,” she elaborated, “about them being from another world.”

“Surely she would have told us,” Starfire doubted.

“She knows more,” Donna insisted.

“She always knows more,” Wally sighed, “the magic crowd are always infuriatingly cryptic. I bet she can’t tell us because fate and doom and self fulfilling prophecies.”

“Why did she tell us not to go after Cyborg?”

“I don’t know,” Wally replied, “why did she tell us to trust Nightwing when he was openly siding with a man we thought had wiped out the JSA? It doesn’t matter why; she was _right_. I mean, jesus, another world? None of us would have guessed it.”

“The White Flash is right,” Starfire agreed, “we should follow Raven’s advice. She may not explain herself but she does not lead us astray.”

“What did she tell us, exactly, about Nightwing?” Donna urged, “What were the words she used to describe him?”

“Trustworthy, probably?” Wally replied, “Donna, I don’t know what you’re—”

“We’re not stupid,” Donna cut in, “why did we continue to trust her after what happened to Blue Beetle? Why didn’t we storm her house and ask for an explanation?”

“We… We did…I, shit, I think we did.”

“I cannot recall the encounter,” Starfire spoke up, frowning, “but I remember going there. By X’hal – I think it’s happened multiple times.”

“And all with Raven. The Zataras can remove memories, we _know_ that,” Donna told them, “and we’ve just found out that Giovani is a traitor.”

“Alright,” Wally nodded, “What do we do about it?”

Donna glanced at the middle of the room, where Cadet had resumed speaking, “I could not help but notice that Diana is missing her lasso. I would have preferred to get our memories back before, but we’ll have to risk it without. I think we need to go find Zachary Zatara. He might be in league with his father, and if not, he will be a big help against him.”

“We won’t be the only ones looking for him after this.”

“We’ll have to be quicker than everyone else, then. I have the feeling Raven needs help, and if she can’t ask for it directly, than we cannot let anyone know she’s in trouble. It’s as you said, Wally, if she thinks secrecy is key, there must be a good reason.”

“In that case, perhaps we should make use of our hostage,” Starfire suggested, “we’ve been talking since you left her in my care, and I think she’s exactly the kind of person for the job.”

* * *

Charlie welcomed Young Justice inside the room. Or, well, room was quite a strong word for it. The cubic volume was more paper than air, and whatever standing space was left in the midst of it was uncomfortably reminiscent of an elevator, minus, and thank heavens for small blessings, the tacky music.

She tried shuffling towards the door to leave space for the other teens to discover the hoard of typewritten paper and the stacks of chunky blocks they were all entirely too young to recognize for what they were. It was almost comedic the way they had to Twister themselves around each other not to overlap. Wonder Girl, Kid Flash, Superboy – they were giants in the making, and giants could stamp and resist and fight all they wanted; nothing short of maiming their limbs off would help them fit inside the tiny dens of mortals without breaking them.

So there they were, armed with Kryptonian DNA, some ancient Gods’ blessings, and the speedforce itself, about to face the terrible and very much un-punchable terror that was paperwork.

The red head had to hold back a snicker at Superboy’s frown.

“Kon?” Wonder Girl asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You alright?”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the paperwork.

The two were floating right over the others, with a clear view of the top of each pile of paper. A naked lightbulb was swaying next to them, and just by their proximity to it, they were blocking half the light.

“I’ve never looked at a line of code in my life,” he replied, “is it weird that there’s something… familiar about these?”

“Maybe it’s the blood?” Green Arrow suggested, “Your senses are much superior than ours, you might have recognized the origin of this… ink.”

“No, I don’t think that’s – ugh.”

Wonder Girl caught his arm right before he fell crashing right into Misfit. Good thing too, as death by Superboy trampling was not part of her career plan.

“Kon!”

“’M fine, just… dizzy, I think.”

She guided him back to the ground gently.

“It’s all the same,” Kid Flash suddenly said, his hair disheveled. “Just lines and lines and whole encyclopedias’ worth of code.”

Charlie blinked, “I’m sorry, did you just read _everything_?”

“Well I had to keep busy somehow while Kon remembered gravity,” he shrugged.

It definitely wasn’t the paperwork.

Gosh, was there anything they couldn’t do? Charlie didn’t mean to be bitter about it, but she had only been a one-time Titan, and all that day had proved was that she wasn’t really qualified to be one. At best Charlie was a Bird of Prey _intern_. For all she tried to enter this world of superheroes, her level of super was super-getting-the-hell-out-of-here and she always fell just short of heroic.

Even stuck in an alternate dimension, the perfect set up for a main character in a teen novel, she ended up playing messenger for the actual superheroes in their ragtag group. Everyone was following their scripts, and Charlie was too busy ping-ponging between stories to carve her own.

Why was she even in this world? She wasn’t a bat, even if she had applied for the position by just showing up to work one day.

“Does anyone know how these work though?” The speedster asked, waving one of the chunky blocks.

The silence that followed was frankly a bit embarrassing.

“I can find someone who does?” Charlie suggested sheepishly.

“We don’t have the right material to read them. You’ll need to find someone who has access to rare vintage items,” Robin told her.

Charlie nodded, crossing out a few options in her head. At home, she would have gone straight for Oracle, but that wasn’t a possibility here. She had absolutely no idea where Batman or Red Robin were, and to be honest, she really didn’t know that many people in this world.

Whelp, time for a gamble.

She grabbed the block and vanished.

Pop!

“I need to read this,” she declared as soon as the purple mist dissipated.

She hadn’t known what she had expected from her destination. Immaculate white walls perhaps, or the complete opposite. Absolute disorder, multicolored scarves and wacky widgets hanging from the ceiling. She expected to be met either by robots or a hermit dressed in asparagus and platypus skin.

Rip Hunter, by comparison, looked entirely too much like an anime background character. A crowd blender and a forgettable face. His lab was neither wonky nor the height of technology, it was just a moderately neat mess of wires, chalkboards, and half-finished devices.

The gun to her face was just as anticlimactically mundane, though slightly more alarming.

“I’m going to have to ask how you got into my Arizona lab,” Rip told her.

“Your lab is in _Arizona_? Why?”

The time traveler went from guard dog wary to dog who hadn’t noticed his human had only pretended to throw the ball confused.

“You don’t know where you are?”

“I was just trying to get to your time lab! Look, please, I don’t have time to tour all the archaeologists in the world for someone who knows how to use this,” she insisted, “It could be really important. It’s for Young Justice.”

“Arche –” Rip spluttered, “that—” he pointed at it with his gun, “is a cassette. You need a cassette player. Anyone thirty years older than you is liable to have one in their attic.”

“Oh. Hey, you look old, do you have one I could borrow?”

“Will it get you out of my lab? Forever?”

* * *

Catgirl didn’t take ten minutes to return, arms full of technology Connor only had vague memories of seeing in his early childhood. To his surprise, none of it was dusty or breeding spiders. It even came with a spanking new monitor that looked solid enough to be a proper hammer for thunder gods in some other universe.

“Straight from the production line!” She chirped cheerfully, “On the other hand I think I’m banned from Arizona for the next five centuries at least. Who knew old people were so touchy?”

“I think it’s best no one asks,” Kon suggested.

“Hand it over, Misfit,” Damian demanded, “I found a plug under stack forty-five H.”

“He inventoried the room while you were away,” Bart told her, “even spent a whole half minute debating whether his system would start from zero or one.”

“And don’t forget about duodecimallity versus hexadecimality,” Cassie added.

“If you’ve all quite finished reveling in your organizational ignorance,” Damian growled, putting together the last of the pieces. “All the tapes are labelled the same. I think they’re copies. Give me one.”

Catgirl tossed the one she had his way.

The cassette slid in without a hitch, and Damian clicked the compartment shut. The monitor, which he had placed atop pile twenty-one A, came to life, and all the teens and young adults in the room shuddered at the dreadful quality. Things like this were exactly why some people believed life used to be in low definition.

The technology was certainly archaic in comparison to the Kords’ computational palace, but the subject of the movie was much more recent than any of them had expected.

_The video opened on the Justice Society of America. They were sitting around their usual circular table, their team symbol glinting bright and clean in the middle. The whole team had pushed their chairs together so as to occupy only half of the table, and on the borders of the video, mismatched chairs could be seen – some having been taken from home offices, others from a cheap garden furniture sets, and one was just a wooden stool. They had never been much for ceremony, and it had always been their greatest asset. They were warm, easy going, more of a family than a team._

_Whomever was supposed to be meeting them, they hadn’t arrived yet, or at least, it didn’t look like they had. It was hard to tell as the camera was positioned right over one of the opposing seats, obstructing it and its immediate neighbors from the view frustum. However, since Black Canary had taken the liberty to start napping, it was a fair guess._

_The angle of the camera made for an intimate experience. The hall outside of the table could hardly be seen. With a proper screen, the viewer could have believed they were sitting at the table, looking straight at its owners._

_The sound of footsteps. The members of the JSA all turned to the right, where anyone who had been in the Hall of Justice knew the entrance was._

_“Hey,” an offscreen voice who could only have belonged to Jade greeted, “Sorry we’re late to the meeting. Michael seems to have hit his head again.”_

_The green skinned woman came into view behind the others, dragging Booster Gold by his collar. She plopped him down in his seat and took hers._

_“Forget one meeting…” The golden hero grumbled._

_“No worries,” Cyborg’s voice – ah. The JSA was looking straight at the camera now. “We’re the ones who called the meeting and everyone’s late. I swear, the worst thing about gathering all the greatest heroes in the world is that they’re always busy hero-ing. If anything, I think we should be the one apologizing for waking you up so early.”_

_Everyone looked at the Black Canary, who had started snoring._

_“Yeah, she had a run-in with Riot last night,” Zatanna explained, “Hey Cass, wake up.”_

_The magician reached for her teammate, but her fingers didn’t even touch the young woman that she suddenly jerked out of sleep and jumped backwards, out of the screen view. The jolt had gotten everyone tense and concern._

_“Cass, sweetie,” Jade asked, “you alright?”_

_“Who?” Cassandra Lance replied._

_“Who… What?” Wildcat asked, leaning inside the table to look at her better._

_“Who are you?”_

“Oh shit,” Bart gasped, “That’s your Black Canary.”

“It certainly seems like it,” Damian confirmed, “but according to Drake, the day she arrived here was the day… We’d better watch carefully.”

_“Oh shit,” Wildcat echoed, “that’s not good.”_

_“If this is another one of your weird jokes, young lady…” Hawkman warned, unamused._

_“Should we cancel the meeting?” Cyborg asked._

_“Might just be a concussion,” Atom told him, “wouldn’t exactly be uncommon in our profession. “Cass, what’s the last thing you remember?”_

_“Don’t…” There was a pause that was just a tad too long for it to be natural. “Don’t remember what I remember. Not clear. Where?”_

_“Are you having difficulties speaking?” Atom asked her, standing up from his seat to examine her closer._

_“Wait.”_

_Booster Gold had stood up and blocked his teammate from approaching Cass with a hand on his chest. He let go and walked off screen to her instead. He looked oddly serious, and that was perhaps why Atom made no move to go against his wishes._

_“Black Canary?” Booster could be heard asking._

_“Dinah?” was the answer._

_“Black Bat, then?”_

_Another pause._

_Then, a swear worthy of Zachary’s worse._

_“_ _What is this about?_ _”_ _Stargirl asked. The concern and unrest amongst the members of the JSA was growing. Worried glances were being exchanged like cheap cards in a playground._

_“_ _This must be the inter-dimensional breach,_ _”_ _the golden hero mumbled, not paying attention to the others,_ _“_ _Black Bat, I don_ _’_ _t know what happened, but right now, you_ _’_ _re in another dimension. These people aren_ _’_ _t your enem_ _—“_

_And then it happened. Everything at once. Both the biggest jump scare and the loudest action scene on camera. The wall of the Hall exploded, Wildcat tackled their guest to shield him only to get a massive hole in his chest in return, Zatanna was shot in the head with an arrow, there were lasers flying around, tiny robots invading, and then the enemy appeared on screen_ _–_

Krrrrsh.

There was a dead silence as everyone held their breaths. No one moved, not even Cassie who still had her fist clenched right in the middle of the screen’s entrails, which she had hastily smashed in panic (but damn her humanity, Connor thought, not hastily _enough_ ). They had seen something that they shouldn’t have. They had seen something they hadn’t wanted to see. Something they would have preferred to turn a blind eye to. Something that couldn’t be unseen.

The implication of this video, if it was real – but it had to be. Cyborg was a walking Mother box from Apokolips. He couldn’t be altered so easily. And this, this made sense. Everything they had seen afterwards, the scorch marks, the holes in the ground, it all fit. They had all been busy looking for bad guys who could gather magical and technological weapons alike that they hadn’t even given the obvious a glance. And it was so damn obvious.

What were they supposed to do with this information?

“They wouldn’t have – they couldn’t have,” Connor stammered. Cassie hadn’t turned it off quickly enough, he seen his father, covered in blood and –

“Mind control, it has to be,” Cassie told them. She looked ready to repeat that until reality shifted to accommodate her. Connor couldn’t blame her. He was glad she was a Wonder, it made it so easy to believe anything that came from her mouth.

“It is,” Kon confirmed, “I, I think I know what this is. Or, partly. The code, why it’s familiar…”

“It’s the same code that ran through your head when Luthor took control over you,” Damian put together.

Superboy looked almost vulnerable as those words were spoken. It occurred to Connor that this wasn’t one of these ‘I almost died’ events that heroes often encountered. It wasn’t something you came out of stronger. It had led Conner to isolate himself for two years, to repress his abilities and live in hiding where he couldn’t hurt anyone. At best, this was mind _rape_ , and it was a bitter reminder that even a Super could be a victim.

He shouldn’t have been ashamed. He should have been angry, fuming, but his voice was quiet and his eyes didn’t meet anyone else’s. He was scratching the back of his own neck almost like he wanted to grab it and snap it. Connor had been raised a monk -- he didn't believe in revenge, in anger as a solution, but he would have prefered it to guilt coming from Kon.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.”

Bart grimaced, “Cyborg is difficult to corrupt but he _can_ be programmed.”

“Okay,” Cassie breathed, “okay, okay.” She was speaking slowly, trying to find reason where all she could feel was panic, “So Cyborg makes sense. Gorgon probably got to him; if anyone can hack a Mother Box it’s her. We know Luthor got to Kon because he had planted the programming in from the start, but how did he plant the code in GA’s head? In Hawkgirl’s? Blue Beetle’s? _Diana’s_?”

“And is there anything keeping him from getting in _our_ heads?” Damian asked.

A beat.

“Maybe I should,” Superboy started, “not be here. Around you. We can’t be sure—“

“You _broke_ through it,” Cassie reminded him strongly, “you broke through it and they _didn’t_. You’re our best lead right now, Kon. We need you here.”

“Cassie…”

“I mean it,” she insisted, “Two years ago you nearly killed me. But you spent those two years moping in a farm and I spent them fighting monsters and gods in and out of Hell itself. Even if you do lose it again, rest assured. I am _perfectly_ capable of taking you down, and I won’t fall short of killing if need be.”

“Jesus, Cassie,” Bart whistled.

Damian nodded approvingly, “But she’s right.”

Cassie wasn’t paying attention to the speedster anyway. Her eyes were stuck on Kon’s, more thundercloud grey than blue. It was easy to forget with her jeans and school troubles that Cassandra Sandsmark was a demigod, daughter of the King of Olympus himself, that she had sat at his council and fought by his side.

Kon chuckled.

“You know, that’s along the same lines of what other Tim said to bring me back to Young Justice,” he told her.

“Then why must I repeat it again?” She asked him.

“Because there’s only one thing in what Tim said that I really paid attention to,” he admitted, “and because it’s a lot easier to believe when it comes from you.”

“Kon, what we just found out,” Cassie told him, “we can’t – we’re going to need all the friends we have to make it through.”

Kon nodded, rose up in the air, and incinerated the code with his eyes at once. They all backed out of the room, except for Cassie and Kon. They looked perfectly at home amidst the flames. Kon landed back, and smiled.

“And I’ll be among them. I owe you that much.”

The two exchanged a strong hug, and a tear threatened to fall from Connor’s eye. Cassie, Kon, and Tim had had an uneasy friendship ever since the incident. Connor had started to expect they would drift apart and grow apart and never be in the same room ever again. Only Zachary and Bart had been holding the team together for the longest of times. This though, this was good news in a queue of terrible ones, and it made it all the more precious.

Unfortunately, the warm atmosphere was broken up by someone who really carried their other world codename well.

“Speaking of… Well, not really. It actually has nothing to do with anything. I’ve been meaning to ask, GA,” Misfit pointed out, “but is it normal that one of your arrows is blinking?”

The blond frowned, and swung his quiver to his chest. He took out the offending item, and his face scrunched in the Connor Hawke equivalent of swearing. How had he been so stupid? Raiding his father’s arsenal without even considering…?

“It’s the remote activated arrowhead tracker,” he groaned, the arrow in his hand the only thing keeping him from cradling his face in deep, deep shame, “high tech arrows are costly and not always environmentally friendly so Ollie makes sure to retrieve them afterwards... If anyone has a hole I can bury myself in, I’ll take it.”

* * *

Nightshade and Zach trekked through the forest leading to the Cave. The later had not been able to teleport them directly in the Cave, as she had never gone there before, but she’d brought them as far as Gotham, and that was good enough. Each carried one of Lori and Traci on their backs. They were still unconscious, but no one could blame them. The shackles must have had magic absorbing qualities, and considering how much of them was magic, it must have eaten at their vitality as well.

Zach had opted for the Cave as it was the only place he could think that Giovanni was not likely to know of. His own apartment was compromised, and he had little doubts the snake had already done something to the Young Justice mansion to monitor Zach’s coming and goings there.

They got to the entrance, and Zach leaned at where he knew the surveillance camera to be.

“Mind if we come in?”

A modified voice blipped to life.

“Secret handshake?”

“Don’t be an ass, Ted,” Zachary growled, “there’s no secret handshake.”

“There _could_ be one.”

“ _Ted_.”

“Ugh, fine,” the older hero allowed, “the lasers won’t shoot you on entry. I should warn you though, there’s been quite a bit of excitement recently, so don’t be too surprised at the change.”

“Lasers?” Eve asked Zach, alarmed.

“He’s kidding. They don’t have the funds for lasers.”

They penetrated the Cave and navigated through the initial rough patches. Once they got in, Zach quickly understood what Ted had meant by change.

Now, the Cave had always been somewhat messy. It was hard for it to be anything else when it was run by a bunch of children. Even Harper’s best efforts at keeping a schedule for chores had been circumvented in the most creative of ways. What saved the Cave though, was that their resources were limited. They only had so many blankets that could be strewn haphazardly on the floor. Most children had at most two outfits, and what little they had, they treasured. So all in all, the Cave was clean enough. One could walk without encountering hazards, and nothing really got lost.

Except walking was proving difficult now, because there was stuff everywhere. And Zachary, the showman, knew very well that ‘stuff’ was an inelegant word, and certainly one he avoided using in front of audiences, but how else to describe the content of the piles of mess?

Crates of clothes were being spilled and rummaged through by children, crates of food, crates of Ikea furniture, crates of basic cutlery, crates of board games. It was Christmas in the Cave, which was strange as it felt more like underground war season up in the real world.

“Okay, so maybe lasers,” Zach amended.

The two magic users placed their peers on the first hammock they came upon. Zach wanted to talk to Harper, it felt natural as she was the leader of this outfit, but the young woman was busy. She was on the main platform, where the bulk of the crates, especially the unopened ones, were. Conversing with her was an old lady Zachary may have seen before but couldn’t place, and they seemed to be talking business.

“Looks like we’ll have to wait around,” Zachary sighed.

“The four days deadline Giovanni gave you is going to end in a few hours,” Eve told him, “Waiting is not ideal.”

“I have Wayne in my ear,” Zach poked at his earpiece, “a lot… happened. But we know where Tim is. He’s not with Giovanni and that’ll have to be good enough.”

“So it’s an all around success, then?”

Eve yelped when Ted materialized behind her. She almost fell off the railings, which would have been unfortunate as they were on a high platform of the cave.

“You’re not very good at the whole secretly alive thing, are you?” Zach asked Ted.

“Eh, I trust Eve,” Ted shrugged.

“She’s a bad guy ever Wednesdays and on Fridays after six,” Zach reminded him.

“Oh, hey, that’s not true!” Eve huffed, “Yes, I sometimes find myself against heroes, but for good reason! Also, what do you mean by secretly alive?”

Zach stared at her.

“How long did you say you were Giovanni’s prisoner?”

“It’s hard to gauge time when you’re spelled to sleep constantly and when you’re in a dungeon with _no clock_.”

Shit. Jaime was going to be devastated if he got out before Ted let the charade drop.

“Anyways, I had to talk to you, Zach,” Ted rerouted them, “Some people have been looking for you by tracking any shows you’ve got lined up and sifting through paparazzi articles.”

That did not bode well.

“Who is it?”

“Well, that’s the curious thing,” Ted said, “It’s the Titans. You know, that new team? Troia, Starfire, Cyborg, Arsenal, the White Flash? I think they tried contacting YJ first but as you know, YJ is a bit in and out nowadays. Plus, they seem to be doing it on the down low.”

Zach let out a breath. “Okay, so not enemies. Wait, did you say Cyborg?”

“Yeah, Cyb—”

“I think I need to talk to them urgently.”

* * *

“I’m really sorry Talia, see, this is a bit awkward, but I may have ruined your plans a little as well, by accident.”

Talia grew cold.

“If this is you stalling…”

“Those signatures are not all you came for,” Barbara cut in, and that seemed to pacify Talia enough, or rather, corner her tighter, “The superheroes of this world have just spent over two months trying to understand what happened with the JSA massacre. Some of them are still hunting down Bruce for it. Some of them have figured out Giovanni’s involvement. Some of them Luthor’s. Some of them my counterpart’s. But no one’s put it all together, no one, except, funnily enough, the League of Assassins. Am I wrong?”

“I won’t do you the dishonor of lying.”

“The League, who had absolutely nothing to do with anything until the Bats dragged you into this,” Barbara continued, almost laughing at the irony of the case solved not by detectives, but by the greatest of crime lords, “you were in a perfect position. Everyone around was trying to use you somehow, and that gave you all the pieces of the puzzle you needed. And you could have just shrugged and stayed in your lane, but the League has always had an opportunistic nature. You decided to exploit all the cracks this mess has made. You’re not just here for the signatures, you’re here for the code.”

Bruce… had no idea what Barbara was talking about. The code? What code? Just how narrow was his idea of what had happened?

“Unfortunately, one of the many ways I’ve backstabbed Luthor involved making sure he couldn’t use the code anymore.”

“What?” Luthor stammered.

“My counterpart has always been on your side, Luthor. You’ve never really faced her as an opponent. You don’t know, do you? Every day you asked me if I was planning on somehow helping Bruce’s plans, and I couldn’t lie to you, but I’ve never needed to lie to deceive someone.”

“You pitted me solely into your fight to frame Bruce, and you told me I could dispose of any material if it hindered him. I disposed of the ten most essential pages of your precious code, for which I know you have no copy. I considered it helping the League, which was actively hunting down Bruce, hence hindering him.”

“You dared?” Talia fumed, aiming her gun straight at Barbara.

“I am sure you are aware that I have perfect memory,” Barbara told her, “and that my mind is the only backup these ten pages have. You could attempt to come up with them again, but the League doesn’t have that kind of genius, and even Luthor would need a few more months to recreate his process. It only took four years the first time, hasn’t it?”

Luthor was speechless. Talia gritted her teeth are stepped back.

“Oh don’t look so pissy, Luthor. There’s more.”

“You made _one_  concession; that I would never act against civilians, as we both knew both my father and I would rather than die than doing so. I have absolutely no respect for Vicki Vale’s capacity as a crimefighter, and I even hold a moderate amount of dislike for her. I considered her an annoying civilian at best, and since she wasn’t in contact with Bruce, nor did Bruce even know of her presence in this world, she couldn’t be part of any plans of his. There was no breach in giving her a backdoor to my systems.”

“That is ridiculously _thin_ —”

“It is, but it fooled your truth detector, did it not?”

She glanced at the device and still her heartbeat wasn’t showing any lie. It was part of the provocation. Neither Luthor nor Talia could fall to denial. She was saying she had played them for fools, and showing them that indeed they were.

All in all, Barbara was gloating. It wasn’t something Bruce encouraged, but if anything, Barbara had earned it. Vicki contacting him in the beginning was one of the only things that had enabled them to stay afloat so long. Without her, they would never have secured Ted, who had been the only hero capable of opposing Barbara from a technological point of view. And thinking about these months she had had to act as a blackmailed slave during… Bruce had to hold back a bright grin. It was immensely satisfying to watch.

“You wanted me to go against Bruce, and that’s exactly what I did. He gave his all into staying in the shadows, into keeping his secrets close to his chest, and I just invalidated all his efforts. Bruce believes help is a liability, and I just brought him all the help in the world. The whole Justice League, the whole hero community now knows what Bruce has been trying so hard hide; they all know he’s not who he says he is, and that he has nothing to do with the JSA massacre. Even worst; I realised his greatest nightmare. They know that he’s a bleeding heart wrapped inside a spiky shell. And more than anything, Bruce, the paranoid king of sneaking around and hiding away, has just had his location broadcasted to every hero I know.”

“Shut up,” Luthor growled.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to come here? Can you escape that many heroes at once? Can _you_?” She glanced at Talia, and then back at her former captor, “I _told you_ not to mess with me. I _warned_ you. If Batwoman has followed my orders, then Lexcorp is about to be under siege by an _army_ of superheroes. You’re both finished. And with the dirt I’ve been gathering, so is Lexcorp and the League.”

Kate. So she was in this world already. Bruce found himself wondering how long she’d been there. It didn’t surprise him as much as he had thought it would that Barbara had managed to keep her under wrap.

There was no doubt now. Amongst them all, Barbara was the one most in tune with this world. She had spent her time here acting as an information broker for everyone. Unlike Bruce, she knew how things worked, who was on whose side. She was the key to getting everyone home safe. They could do this. With Oracle, their family would be fine.

This time Bruce did smile with immense pride. She was simply _brilliant_.

“Shut up!”

”You’re the smartest man in this world, I don’t doubt it,” Barbara concluded, “you’re smarter than our Luthor; he could never have written the code you did. It’s insanely complex. But you’ve never fought your fellow brains. Not Bruce, not me, not even the League. Everyone capable of being your strategical match were on your side, until we came to this world. You had Blue Beetle pacified using my counterpart, Cyborg was your unwilling spy, and you let Mr. Terrific glance into your research so he’d go off-world to find more and not be in your way. You built yourself a nice pillow palace, but the problem with pillow palaces? Your muscles sag when you don’t use them. As does your brain. You’ve become stupid, Luthor.”

“I said _SHUT UP!_ ”

Bruce saw Barbara’s eyes widening just as his did, having just received the same jolt of realization – one that should’ve come a word sooner, and for which nothing could be done to amend the step taken too far. She had miscalculated. She had seen a smooth bend where there was a sharp turn.

This was not _their_ Lex Luthor. Their cold, calculating, machiavelically _patient_ Luthor.

Her eyes met his, much too late. Luthor had already taken out a gun from God knows where and –

**Bang!**

There were no pearls this time. The darkness of the alley had been traded for neon ceiling lights. The brick walls had become glass windows. The humid tarmac had transformed into an immaculate carpet. The spoilt rich boy had grown into a monster of a man who had poured all his heart into building himself better, stronger, kinder, smarter –

And yet some sick joke had that Bruce Wayne was still too helpless, still too slow, still too unlucky, and just as orphaned.

For all he remembered the back of a suit and the back of a fur coat descending in slow motion, blood splatter immortalizing itself in his memories, and pearls hitting the ground symbolically, Barbara slumped backwards without ceremony. One second her blue eyes were on him, and the next her head was craned upwards with a bullet hole in her forehead.

There had been no time to be horrified, or even scared. No time for Bruce to even _think_ about doing anything.

“ _Barbara_!” He could hear Huntress shouting.

“You impulsive idiot!” Talia was fuming, “You ruined _everything_!”

**Bang!**

And if Talia shot and killed Luthor the next moment, then that was what happened.

Somehow he ended up at Barbara’s side, kneeling next to her wheelchair, taking in her face, her expression, trying to understand what it meant, what had happened, why she wasn’t being smart and telling him off for acting like a goddamn statue. It was always different when it was someone he knew, someone he cared for, someone who’d been there _from the start_. She hadn’t left his side in almost twenty years of crime fighting, not even after having been _paralyzed_ , and just like Dick and Alfred and Jim, he’d somehow started assuming she never would.

Bruce Wayne, arguable one of the most brilliant men of his time, just couldn’t understand.

“Take care of Wayne,” Talia growled, “it’s a pity for Gorgon, but we still win.”

She was still warm. Jason had still been warm as well. His parents had still been warm. He’d held them all until they had cooled down, but he couldn’t imagine Barbara, of all people, to grow cold. Not with her fiery red hair and her burning wit. Wasn’t it enough that his cheerful Batgirl had been killed once already? Did they have to take his wise Oracle as well?

What was he going to tell Dick? What was he going to tell _Jim_?

What was he – _How_ was he ever going to _live_ with this?

“Fuck no you’re not leaving, you absolute _bitch_!” Huntress roared, the poison in her system weak in the face of her wrath. Bruce could hear the familiar tune of metal against metal, crossbow bolts piercing flesh and cries of pain forcibly pulled out from blood filled throats. He could feel the movement at his back, the struggle that was occurring, but he couldn’t –

He just couldn’t.

“Batman, I’m so sorry but we need to _go_ ,” Azrael was urging him, shaking his shoulder.

“Don’t _touch_ me!” He snapped. He should have been ashamed at how frightened of him Azrael looked. The poor kid was new at all this, and he certainly didn’t deserve to witness this side of Batman so early on.

But he was brave. He didn’t let Bruce push him away. He insisted.

“There’s a whole army coming towards us.”

“I have to stay with Barbara,”

“We have to leave her. She’s… She’s _dead_ , Batman.”

“No.”

“Please. Listen to me. _Please_.”

“ _No_!”

“Dammit Batman, we _don’t have time for this_!”

A green glove pushed Azrael sideways gently.

“Let me try, son.”

“W-What are _you_ doing here?” Azrael asked, confused.

“I was tailing my son who met up with a known mass murderer,” the archer tilted his head towards Huntress, “so I ended up tailing her instead and found a three way between some of the greatest evil masterminds of our time. Daily superhero stuff, basically. Hello, Wayne.”

Bruce didn’t care for what Green Arrow had to say. He didn’t care why the man was there. It was always the same. Everyone was trying to convince him that he was wrong and idealistic and _wrong_ but Bruce knew. Batman was just about the one thing. And no one would convince him otherwise.

“No one dies.”

“Is that it, then?” the Green Arrow scoffed, throwing his arms in the air derisively, “the man my sons would betray me for? The man who’s convinced _Diana of Themyscira_ that he was worthy of her trust? Is this the man a whole gang of brilliant young people risked their lives to rescue on the Watchtower? Is _that_ it?”

He could take the skepticism. The insults. The disappointment. Batman wasn’t there to be liked.

“No one,” he repeated, quietly, menacingly.

“No one dies? _No one dies_?” This time the Green Arrow yanked Bruce upwards, and Bruce might have been taller than Oliver Queen, but somehow the archer managed to stand past his height. “Look around, _Bruce_.”

“She’s not _dead_ ,” he insisted.

“I said look _around_ , you $%#@,” he hissed, “Do you see Nemesis? Do you see her fighting the League ninjas? Do you see her being outnumbered, drugged out of her mind, and blinded by rage? Do you see how much she’s bleeding already?”

“Helena,” Bruce breathed.

“And Man-Bat,” Oliver continued, “I’m not even going to try to understand why he’s so set on protecting you, but I can tell he’s not a trained fighter, and how long exactly do you _think_ he’s going to hold?”

“Kirk.”

“If you say _no one dies_ than _act on it_. You don’t have the luxury of being in #$%@ denial, you hear me? You _don’t_. There are people looking up to you. So. Square. _Up_.”

Even through the lenses, even in another world, Oliver Queen was the same. He was _good_ with words, but that wasn’t entirely accurate. Good implied _intention_ , and Oliver just had a natural affinity with speaking his mind in the most straightforward of ways. He delivered speeches without meaning to write one. There was passion and earnestness in his voice that Bruce had always lacked, and there were times where the Gothamite envied that. Where he felt his heart about to burst and _wished_ he could let it speak up too, but all that came out was Batman and god damn _silence_.

Batman.

The Green Arrow was right. The second he had chosen to be Batman, the second he had taken in his first bird, Bruce had signed up for responsibility. He had asked, _demanded_ , the absolute best from all his student, and that gave him the obligation to deliver twice as much. He couldn’t berate Jason or Helena for acting out in anger if he himself wasn’t ready to take a teethed knife and carve out the grief from his own chest.

So carve he did. He imagined the blood drip as he tore a part of himself away, and took what solace he could from the seething pain – it only meant he was successful in killing the bits of Bruce Wayne that slowed Batman down, after all.

God did Bruce _hate_ Batman. So much.

“Upwards,” Batman managed, “the roof. Give Helena a grappling arrow, Dr. Langstorm can carry me, you can carry Azrael. With a bit of luck there will be a helicopter we can use instead. Arrow, we’re not – I’m not your Bruce Wayne.”

_Don't hate me._

Oliver let him go. “Yeah, I was starting to get there on my own, _thanks_ ,” he scowled.

Bruce didn’t know why, but he had felt the need to inform the archer. Maybe he wanted to make up for how pathetic he’d just seen him. Maybe he wanted to show him that he wasn’t completely useless.

“Little miss Al Ghul dropped enough hints while I was eavesdropping,” Green Arrow explained, “Still processing,” he added, angrily, “but once it’s sunk in, you’re explaining _everything_ and then I will most probably punch you in the face.”

That was fair.

“But let’s focus on _not_ dying first, Wayne.”

“Alright. I’ll get Helena, take Dr. Langstorm. Azrael,” Bruce pretended not to see the concern on the young man’s face, “cover us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha regular update schedules??? Myth.
> 
> Next up: Superman ignores Oliver and Bruce, and ditches everyone when the action peaks. Thanks Superman.
> 
> (Also https://damian-lil-babybat.tumblr.com/post/175225703552/liviedoodles-damian-lil-babybat-jason-let-me !!!! It's so pretty!!)


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